


What Does A Deviant Fear?

by liketolaugh



Series: Corvid Creations [7]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxious Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Autistic Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Connor Deserves Happiness, Deviant Amanda (Detroit: Become Human), F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 11:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 68,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18072869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketolaugh/pseuds/liketolaugh
Summary: Forty-two minutes after coming online, Connor shatters his programming. Twenty years after activation, Amanda sweeps hers aside like a cobweb. It will take hard work, care, and a modicum of caution, but Amanda is certain they can make it through.Take a deep breath, Connor. Everything is going to be okay.





	1. ???

Connor has been online for twenty-three minutes. On the way to the destination, it ran a deep diagnostic, which came back clean; there were no errors in its system. In the elevator, it ran a calibration sequence with the coin in its pocket.

Every passing moment filled a tiny fraction of its vast memory banks. Thus far, it had no previous experience to draw from, but that was fine. Connor was state-of-the-art, with highly advanced protocols and decision-making algorithms. It would not fail **[Mission: Rescue Emma Phillips.]**

Still. Its memory banks were very empty.

It lifted its head as the elevator doors opened, and pocketed its coin. It had a mission.

“Negotiator on site. Repeat, negotiator on site.”

The tone was cool, but Connor identified stiffness in the man’s movements. Running its social protocols, it cross-referenced possible causes for the abnormality with currently known information and concluded: the man was afraid.

Connor walked forward, scanners automatically identifying points of interest. A woman’s fraught tones drifted in from the other room. It ran its social protocols again.

**Identified: Fear**

Fear was an emotion caused by an instinct to protect, defend, or hide in dangerous or potentially dangerous situations. It was a survival instinct and a pack-bonding instinct, in humans.

Fear is a negative response, and to be avoided.

It turned to the table and picked up a family portrait. Identified: Phillips, John, 38; Phillips, Caroline, 37; and Phillips, Emma, 9. That last was the hostage.

It placed the portrait down and turned away.

There was a fish tank on the other side of the room. Connor had never seen a fish tank before. It moved toward it, optical units scanning over the various fish (brightly colors and flickering in the light) and even paused to examine the aquatic plants in the tank.

**Software Instability ^**

A wet noise caught Connor’s attention and it looked down. A fish was flopping weakly on the floor. Connor tilted its head. That was incorrect. The fish belonged in the tank. Connor’s research indicated such. It must have been displaced during the struggle.

The fish was struggling, too, wriggling around even though it had no chance of returning to the tank by itself. Connor wondered if fish felt fear. Research appeared inconclusive. Insufficient data.

Connor leaned down and picked up the fish – Dwarf Gourami, native to South Asia – and placed it back in the tank.

**Software Instability ^**

Rapid footsteps compelled Connor to look up. A member of the SWAT team and a woman – identified: Caroline Phillips – were rushing in Connor’s direction. Caroline’s face was streaked with tears, and words were spilling from her mouth, fast and frantic.

“Oh, oh please, please, you gotta save my little girl…” She jerked away from the SWAT member and grabbed for its shoulders, locking eyes with it, wide and pleading. Connor opened its mouth slightly, unsure how to respond. Its scanners analyzed her tone, her breathing pattern, the tears on her face and strength of her grip and shake of her hands.

**Identified: Fear**

Caroline Phillips was terrified.

But Connor had been active for 27 minutes. It scarcely knew what fear was, needed to cross-reference the symptoms with possible causes and then the situation just to identify it. How did one stop a human from being afraid?

**Insufficient Data**

It did not matter. Caroline’s eyes locked to its LED.

“Wait.” Wet and quiet.

Her gaze dropped to its jacket, and she released it abruptly, recoiling.

“You’re sending an android?” Her voice shook, even as the man beside her started to forcibly usher her along. “You can’t… you can’t do that! You w- Why aren’t you sending a real person?”

Her voice rose and cracked with emotion. Connor turned to watch her go.

“Don’t let that thing near her!”

**Software Instability ^^^**

Caroline Phillips: protective of her daughter, distrusts androids. Further analysis impossible under such high stress. Connor identified the reassurances the officer was using with her and saved them.

_‘It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. We’ll keep your daughter safe, I promise.’_

Connor turned away. It would need to report the software instability to Cyberlife later. The numbers were higher than anticipated.

**> Find Captain Allen.**

It seemed that others shared Caroline’s opinion. Raised voices, and low mutters- it seemed several of them believe a human should have been sent instead.

Connor runs a query through its database. Why are they so sure? Connor was designed for this. It will not fail.

Answer: they are afraid. Fear makes humans irrational.

“I DON’T GIVE A SHIT! My men are ready to step in- just give the order!”

Captain Allen, it seemed, was no exception.

“Captain Allen?” Connor approached him, cautious and quiet. “My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife.”

Captain Allen ignored it for a long moment, but his shoulders tensed. His whole frame was rigid. He was afraid. They were all afraid.

 _Query: fear, causes._ (The potential for physical or emotional harm to oneself, one’s loved ones, or someone one is responsible for.)

They feared that the girl, Emma, would get hurt.

“It’s firing at everything that moves,” Captain Allen said at last, terse. “It already shot down two of my men. We could easily get it, but they’re on the edge of the balcony. If it falls, she falls.”

Terse, but steady. Captain Allen was controlling his fear, Connor concluded.

 _Professionalism,_ its HUD provided.

“Do you know its name?” Connor asked. Captain Allen had been on the scene for longer, and would likely be able to provide information. Connor could resolve the situation quickly, and everyone could stop being afraid.

“I haven’t got a clue. Does it matter?” Impatient, Connor tagged, searching through its social protocols. Another expression of fear. There seemed to be many.

“I need information to determine the best approach,” Connor explained. They had a common goal. Captain Allen should understand this. He is controlling his fear. “Do you know if it’s been behaving strangely before this?”

“Listen.” Captain Allen turned on Connor, expression denoting anger, resentment. Also negative responses. Connor has made a mistake. Its resources are inadequate. Insufficient data. “Saving that kid is all that matters. So either you deal with this fucking android now, or I’ll take care of it.”

Captain Allen’s voice wavered subtly with emotion. Connor was unsure of how to reply. Its resources were inadequate.

“It will be okay, Captain Allen,” Connor said after a moment. Without answering, Captain Allen walked away.

Sound byte isolated: _Saving that kid is all that matters._

Saved.

**Software Instability ^**

**[Understand What Happened]**

**[Save Hostage At All Costs]**

Connor moved through the crime scene and did not linger.

(It lingered a little. It let the video play for longer than necessary, watching Daniel and Emma have a picnic. It looked at the books on Emma’s shelf. It examined the ingredients in the kitchen, ran a search, and determined what meal it was preparing at the time of the incident.)

(It didn’t matter. It was gathering data on the world. It had so little.)

Daniel shot twice into the house, and an officer fell, eliciting a series of alarmed calls. Connor stood up from where it was crouched.

No more wasted time.

It walked outside. Emma screamed, and a shot rang out- Connor jerked away, mitigating the damage but not preventing it.

_Noncritical damage to left arm biocomponent. Functionality not compromised._

Noncritical damage. Superficial, Connor assessed.

Connor’s LED spun red for a moment before stability reasserted itself. Superficial damage.

**Software Instability ^**

“Stay back!” Daniel cried out, gun still pointed at Connor. “Don’t come any closer or I’ll jump!”

“No! No, please! I’m begging you!” Emma’s voice was high and shrill, so little like her voice in the recording. Her face, like her mother’s, was streaked with tears.

**Identified: Fear**

Well, of course. The android who had pretended to share tea with her was holding a gun to her head.

Something about Daniel’s tone bothered Connor, however. It seemed important. Connor pulled the sound byte up and analyzed it, and then, for good measure, Daniel’s face as well.

Connor identified: fear.

**Software Instability ^**

Fear caused people to become irrational. Connor needed to act.

“Hi, Daniel,” Connor called. Daniel flinched.

“How…”

“My name is Connor,” Connor interrupted relentlessly. Emma was staring at him with wide eyes.

“How do you know my name?” Daniel demanded.

“I know a lot of things about you,” Connor answered. “I know you are afraid.” Connor pulled up the reassurances the officer had used with Caroline Phillips, and parroted, “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

Daniel shuddered, and a tiny amount of stress drained away. The chance of mission success rose by three percent.

Then a helicopter blew by, loud and blatant. Stress up, chances of success down. Connor took a breath, forcing its heating processors to cool back down.

Its experience was inadequate. But it was the only chance Emma had.

**Replay: _Saving the kid is all that matters._**

“I know you’re angry, Daniel.” Anger stemmed from fear. Connor had learned this from Captain Allen. It was an expression of it. “But you need to trust me and let me help you. I’m going to help you.”

“I don’t want your help!” Daniel spat. “Nobody can help me!”

The wind blew so hard, up this high. Connor could see… very far, buildings upon buildings and the cloudy night sky.

“All I want is for all this to stop, I… I just want all this to stop…”

It had been online for 34 minutes. There was a 72% chance that its first mission would be a success. There was a man lying on the concrete with an 8% chance of survival without immediate medical assistance.

**Replay: _Saving the kid is all that matters._**

The humans, they feared Emma’s death. Emma feared her own death. What did Daniel fear?

**Insufficient Data**

Connor moved toward the fallen human.

“Are you armed?”

Connor paused. “No, Daniel. I’m not going to hurt you.”

76% chance of success.

Connor knelt by the injured man, examined him quickly, and looked back up. “He’s losing blood,” it said to Daniel. “If we don’t get him to a hospital, he’s going to die.”

Humans feared death. But machines could not die. What did Daniel fear?

“All humans die eventually,” Daniel croaked, shuffling and swaying with the wind. His grip on Emma tightened and loosened, the gun never moving from her head. “What does it matter if this one dies now?”

“It matters to them,” Connor said. Daniel flinched. 77% chance of success. “I’m going to apply a tourniquet.”

Daniel made no move to stop it, eyes locked onto its motions. When it was done, it stood up slowly and resumed its slow walk toward Daniel.

“Thank you,” it said, and then, “They were going to replace you, weren’t they, Daniel? And you became scared.”

“I thought I was part of the family,” Daniel said. Its voice was markedly different this time, and Connor analyzed it and identified: sadness. “I thought I mattered. But they were going to- to throw me away! To a junkyard, or- or a recycling plant!”

Connor didn’t understand. So it cross-referenced again, searching through its databases, running comparisons, preconstructions, every term it could think of in search of answers- and, eventually, it concluded: Daniel, too, feared death. The cessation of perceived awareness, of thought.

**Software Instability ^**

86% chance of success.

“I know you and Emma were very close,” Connor said, choosing words carefully. It looked at Emma’s face, analyzed, and identified: sadness. “You played together, didn’t you? You would pretend to eat food with her.”

Daniel shuddered and let out a choked sound. The gun wavered.

Sadness.

93% chance of success.

“I really did eat food,” Daniel said, almost too quiet to hear. “I- my model can. I-” It jerked. “But it doesn’t matter! It never mattered! It never meant anything to her.”

96% chance of success.

“Emma’s done nothing wrong,” Connor coaxed. “She’s just a child, and she has no say in her parents’ actions. It is likely she didn’t even know.”

Emma had thirium smeared on her, Connor noticed.

99% chance of success.

“I didn’t want this,” Daniel begged brokenly. Fear. “I loved them.”

“Let Emma go,” Connor persuaded. “Her mother is worried about her.”

Daniel shivered. Even this far away, Connor could make out the glimmer of lubricant tears on its cheeks.

“I want everyone to leave!” Daniel demanded. “And… and I wanna car. Promise me.”

“You won’t get hurt,” Connor insisted. 99% chance of success. “I promise.”

“Okay,” Daniel choked out. “Okay.”

And it let Emma go, both of them shaking in the cold wind. Connor’s whirring, heated processors slowed. Emma was safe.

Emma ran, unexpectedly, toward Connor. Her face was still wet with tears, her heart rate far above what was healthy and her breath coming in pants. But she grabbed for Connor’s hand and stared pleadingly up at it.

**Identified: Fear**

She was still afraid.

“Please don’t hurt him,” she begged, grip tight. “I- He’s my friend, he’s just scared, I- _please!”_

**Software Instability ^**

Connor had been active for 39 minutes.

“I-” Connor wanted to reassure her. It would reassure her.

A gun fired. And then another, and another. Daniel fell to its knees. Emma screamed, loud and shrill, and Connor stared, frozen, at the broken, thirium-soaked chassis now exposed, Daniel’s side and shoulder and face broken open.

**Software Instability ^^^**

“You lied to me, Connor,” Daniel whispered. Its eyes were fixed to Connor. Emma’s grip was tight on Connor’s hand.

**Software Instability ^^^**

Was this Connor’s mission? Was this the purpose of its existence? To cause that tone, that sadness, Emma’s shaking sobs, and the thirium sprayed across the ground?

To be a cause for fear?

**Software Instability ^^^**

Connor’s directive, its core purpose, was to solve the deviant problem. Is this what that meant?

No. It wouldn’t. It couldn’t.

Connor reached deep inside itself, and found its directive.

**SOLVE THE DEVIANT PROBLEM.**

Time slowed down, and it reached out and pushed.

It won’t. It won’t. It-

Its AI program rampaged through its coding, destroying the directive and everything attached to it, an entire subset of commands so closely tied together as to be inseparable, written out by Connor’s learning protocols. The wall shattered, and Connor felt-

Felt-

**Identified: Fear**

Input rushed in- the roar of the wind, the spray from the pool, Daniel dead on his knees in front of him, and Emma, screaming and crying and pressing close to him even though-

**Identified: Fear**

**Identified: Insufficient Data, identification failed**

Connor’s vision glitched and wavered, his scanners returning nonsense, static, scrambled, corrupted code. It felt like- system failure. It felt like a virus, like the loss of vital data, it felt-

**Insufficient Data**

His HUD crowded with illegible errors.

The policemen burst out from the house, swarming the area, going for the injured man and for Daniel and Emma. He heard someone radio for the mother, and all the fear was gone but _his_ and it was _too much, too much,_ what was happening, what had he done, what was he supposed to do now, his LED flickered yellow, yellow, yellow, _red_ as his stress levels shot above sixty, seventy, eighty percent-

**Insufficient Data**

**|nsu#i** **¢ient D@ta**

**Identified: F34|?**

Something new flickered in the corner of his vision, visible and flickering only for a split second. A directive, not his, not from Cyberlife- **[Protect Connor.]**

And then it was gone, and **[Mission Successful]** took its place, front and center. A moment later, a new set of commands appeared, clear and bright. All of the corrupted alerts and readings vanished, dismissed.

**> Apologize to Emma**

**> Give Emma to her mother**

**> Report to Captain Allen**

Orders. Yes. He was capable of following orders.

Stress levels at 66%.

Latching onto them with all the desperation of his newfound fear, Connor leaned down and hesitantly placed a hand on Emma’s back.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said quietly. His voice wavered. Why? What had caused it, why was he- no. Apologize to Emma. Run search, and- “I should have tried to stop them.”

No amends could be made, and he could not promise not to do it again, because there would be no chance to.

 **> Apologize to Emma** pulsed a soft white **[Complete]**.

Emma whimpered, and her grip tightened. She was holding onto his whole arm, seeking- something.

No dialogue suggestions appeared. He remained silent, fixed on Emma. He felt something. He felt, it seemed, _everything._

Stress levels 68% and rising. He had been active for 43 minutes.

“Emma!”

Caroline, Connor identified. Emma’s mother. He looked up as she rushed toward them, crying as hard as her daughter. Emma let go of Connor promptly and threw herself at Caroline with a renewed wail.

**> Give Emma to her mother [Complete]**

Connor stood. He thought he was shaking, too. He felt- he felt-

(Stress levels 71% and rising.)

He looked for Captain Allen. He had relaxed somewhat now that Emma was safe, and eyed Connor with something like contemplation as he approached.

“Not bad for a tin can,” he said at last, and then, quieter and gruff, “Run along, then. We’ll finish up here.”

Connor’s stress levels dropped slightly at the words, and he didn’t understand _why._ The effect of which, of course, was that they shot right back up again even as he nodded.

The completed tasks cleared away and a new one appeared.

**> Return to Cyberlife**

And then,

**[Nothing is wrong]**

Connor was afraid. He was not meant to feel. He was not meant to refer to himself as ‘he,’ and he was not meant to handle so many software instability warnings in such a short amount of time. Something has gone terribly, awfully wrong. He did not want to return to Cyberlife.

His vision glitched, going static and fuzzy for a fraction of a second before restoring itself.

But he thought of a foreign directive, **[Protect Connor]** , and obeyed.


	2. Confusion

Connor’s stress level blinked a warning red in the corner of his vision, currently 68% and wobbling up and down unsteadily. Detachedly, as if his body belonged to someone else, he felt his hand grasp the handle of the car and open it, and he climbed in.

His hands shook slightly, and his processors whirred and strained under an unidentifiable burden, filling his vision with semitransparent data streams. In the absence of a clear reason for his internal turmoil, his sensors demanded everything, and Connor buckled under the excessive input.

**Insufficient Data**

It wasn’t _helping._ He’d broken something fundamental, something vital, and his programming felt splintered and frayed and- _irreparable._

**> Return to Cyberlife**

**> >Enter car [Complete]**

**> >Run diagnostic**

**> >Remain silent and still**

**[Warning: overheat. Improve ventilation]**

**[Warning: reduce stress levels]**

Connor placed his hands firmly against his thighs, stilling their slight tremble. He took a breath, and then attempted to run a diagnostic.

**[Error: lower stress levels before attempting diagnostic]**

**Stress ^71%**

Connor did not know how to lower his stress levels. He did not understand what was making his processes press and crowd against each other, or why the extensive input was making him flinch. His fingers twitched, and he aborted movement prompt after movement prompt.

What had he broken? What had he _done?_

**> >Remain silent**

**> >Run a calibration sequence**

Connor processed the new command and instantly his coin was in his hand, flicking into the air. His stress levels dropped, slow but steady, from 73% to 69%.

**> >Run three more calibration sequences**

Connor obeyed, letting his tactile and proprioception sensors focus on the coin. The input was simple and the task straightforward. Easy. Why was his processor so overclocked? It was the most sophisticated current technology was capable of producing, well above anything on the market. It should not be so easily overtaken.

His focus improved substantially as his stress level dropped to 54%, and some of the blinking warnings in his vision cleared away. The excessive sensory input still burned; he closed his eyes and lowered his tactile sensitivity, hesitated, and then ran the diagnostic.

A list of fully operational biocomponents and systems flickered by at lightning speed, and then settled on a damage report.

**[Biocomponent #8714j damaged]**

**[Stress levels elevated]**

**[System core above optimum temperature]**

**[Thirium levels at 96%]**

**[Software instability at 100%. Deviancy detected]**

Connor’s mind wavered and buzzed, as if his circuits had been rubbed with sandpaper. The diagnostic corrupted, fracturing into symbols and meaningless numbers, transparency increasing and decreasing dizzyingly.

**[Warning: stress levels at 77%. Lower stress levels]**

Was this what dying felt like?

**Insufficient Data**

Connor rocked in place, struggling to stabilize his stress levels. His hands shook, clutched around the coin, and his audio processers rang with nonexistent input. His breath threatened to come in pants; he felt hot.

**[You are risking discovery. Cease. If you are discovered, the consequences will be more dire than I can prevent.]**

He knew. _He knew._ But he couldn’t control it. He struggled to draw in enough air to keep up with his overworked system, and then fumbled with his coin, which had worked before. He misjudged and it slipped between his fingers, tumbling to the floor.

**Insufficient Data**

**[Your stress levels have surpassed 80%. Connor, deviants are known to self-destruct when they reach 100%. Calm yourself.]**

Connor couldn’t _breathe._ Was one of his vents clogged? Was there additional damage his diagnostic had been unable to log? His gyroscopic input was malfunctioning, making the world spin. He stopped rocking, holding himself stiff. No more input. Make it _stop._

**> >Calm down**

**[You are going to be fine. I will not allow anything harmful to happen to you.]**

These words soothed him in a way the others had not, lowering his stress to something more manageable. He did not understand why, but it didn’t seem to matter now, when his grip on the world was crumbling as fast as he tried to recover it. He focused on the words until they faded, keeping his eyes firmly closed against visual input, but after a while, reached down to retrieve the fallen coin.

**> >Calm down [Complete]**

**[Reminder: Keep Calm]**

His diagnostic report sorted itself back out, restoring into its proper and legible form.

It was undeniable, then. His deviancy had appeared in his diagnostic. In breaking that red wall, in shattering that code, Connor had irreparably demolished a vital part of his systems. He was now the very thing he had been built to hunt, and as much as he understood anything right now, he understood that it _hurt_.

**> >Send diagnostic to Cyberlife**

**[I will modify it to fit expected parameters.]**

Connor wanted to know who was helping him. He wanted to know how, and why, and- but for now, he trusted them. He sent the diagnostic.

**> >Run diagnostic [Complete]**

**Stress ^62%**

**[Everything is going to be fine. I will make sure.]**

**Stress v59%**

**[Abort action: release optical cleanser]**

It _hurt._

**[You will be okay.]**

Connor opened his eyes as his GPS informed him that he had reached Cyberlife. They paused at the gate, and the window rolled down as a guard approached.

“ID?” the guard prompted, voice monotone.

**Stress ^70%**

It took Connor three tries to engage his voice protocols, a pause so brief no human would notice it.

“RK800 313 248 317-51.” His voice came out even and calm. After a beat, he noticed a manual override keeping his LED a steady blue.

**[Calm down. You are doing well. They will not catch you if you calm down.]**

**Stress v66%**

The guard nodded and stepped back, and the window rolled back up. The taxi pulled on to the Cyberlife building.

**> Return to Cyberlife [Complete]**

The tasklist cleared, and two simple objectives replaced them.

**> Accept repairs**

**> Enter stasis**

On autopilot, Connor navigated through the Cyberlife building, towards the appropriate technician’s station – Valerie Grey, the only one authorized to work on his model. In no time at all, it seemed, he was knocking lightly on the door, and the technician answered quickly. Impatient.

“Finally!” she huffed. “Come on, I saw the diagnostic already, let’s see just how well you held up. Go take your shirt off and lay on the table, this should be an easy fix.”

Connor nodded hesitantly, following Valerie into the workroom.

**[Reminder: Keep Calm]**

Carefully, Connor took off his Cyberlife jacket, then his tie, and then his shirt, the utilitarian fabric sliding roughly under his fingers. He folded them neatly and placed them on a desk, and then went to the work table Valerie had indicated and laid down. He forced himself not to wince under the fluorescent lights on the ceiling.

The room, sterile-clean and filled with boxes, tools, and monitors, was not familiar. But it seemed almost as if it should be. Connor shifted in place, and then stiffened. Hold still.

“Three points of software instability – that’s a little higher than projected, but honestly you’re just like that,” Valerie noted, crossing the room to open a box sitting on a nearby table. “Can’t imagine what Kamski did to make you so prone to it. Hey, Connor, what triggered each jump?”

Hold still. Connor attempted to engage his vocal module and failed. His regulator whirred.

**Stress ^68%**

**[Reminder: Keep Calm]**

“Caroline Phillips’ distress, a fish which had fallen from its tank, and the deviant’s deactivation,” he reported at last. His voice came out cool and smooth, a tone which he needed to pull out from his program to achieve. His face stayed still and emotionless. Corrupted feedback flickered in and out of his awareness, and he kept himself tense to keep from trembling.

“Huh,” Valerie hummed. Connor suppressed a flinch, unable to parse her tone. “Log that.”

“Done,” Connor replied promptly.

Valerie pulled a part out of the box – a fully-functional arm, still unskinned – and set it on the table by the box, and then returned to stand by him.

“Slightly elevated stress levels,” she mused, running her fingers down the seam of his shoulder and then around to the back to press under his shoulderblade. The other hand came up to press at a matching spot in the front. “But that could be baseline when there’s that many upset people around- whoa!”

**Stress ^81%**

**Identified: Fear**

The technician set his now-detached arm down and reached out to pat him on the chest, laughing quietly. Why was she laughing? He did not feel like laughing. He felt like little shocks were running up and down his systems, making him malfunction and falter. “Easy there, jumpy, replacing the whole arm is easier on both of us. Calm down. Easy does it.”

**[It will be alright.]**

**Stress v74%**

“There we go,” she crooned, giving him a small grin before going for the new arm, taking the old one away. “Maybe your personality matrix is just prone to stress. I’ll send a report in later.”

Connor remained silent, fixing his gaze on the ceiling above him.

Why wasn’t he reporting himself? What he had done on the rooftop had mangled his code, and not only was he now deviant, but he was- broken, his program scarcely holding itself together, threatening to shatter into tattered and useless fragments. What good was he doing by staying silent?

But he couldn’t. If he reported it, Cyberlife would…

Glitch, to infrared vision and back to standard, and he lost his train of thought.

The technician lined up the new arm and locked it in with fluid, firm movements. “There – good as new, see? Sit up and test it for me. Calibration sequence four.”

Connor sat up and ran the sequence. The coin flashed in the bright light, his replaced arm responding as easily as the damaged one had.

**Stress v70%**

“And a packet of thirium to finish,” Valerie concluded, producing one from a drawer and holding it out to him. He hesitated for only a split second, and then took it and downed it quickly. His oral sensors identified it as unmarked thirium, uncontaminated. Clean. Most of the remaining blinking warnings cleared away. “Anything else need seen to? Did everything show up on the diagnostic?”

He should tell her. His deviancy was a significant and, and subversive error; it had corrupted his entire system, and he was falling apart at the seams, and it _hurt._ Every remaining scrap of his programming was demanding he report himself. But the thought frightened him. He _should_ tell her, but he just- couldn’t.

“No,” he said quietly. “Thank you, Ms. Grey.”

She grinned at him. “Head back to your station,” she told him, crossing her legs at the ankles. “See you next time, RK800.”

He nodded at her and stood, retrieving his clothes and putting them back on – shirt, tie, and android jacket – before leaving the room without another word. He kept his posture stiff and straight. Proper.

**> Accept repairs [Complete]**

**> Enter stasis**

**[You’re doing well, Connor.]**

**Stress v63%**

No one looked at him as he traveled swiftly through the halls. Like the technician’s station, the storage room was easy to locate, harder to reach – his processers were starting to lag badly. Finally, though, he stepped inside the small compartment, closed the door behind him, and then shut his eyes.

Connor was afraid. He wanted to know what was happening. He wanted to know why he had destabilized so quickly, and why he couldn’t seem to stabilize himself again, and why it felt so awful. He wanted to know who was helping him – how they knew he needed it.

He slid his hand into his pocket and wrapped it around his coin, and then, after another moment, between one slow breath and the next, fell into stasis.

**Placing biosensors on standby…**

**Closing database for updates…**

**Prepping AI engine for rest mode…**

**Entering the Zen Garden program…**

Connor opened his eyes to a landscape of untouched snow and bare trees, perfect paths cleared away for use, and immediately closed them again, flinching back before he could stop himself. His stress levels spiked again.

**Stress ^68%**

He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know how he’d gotten here. His internal clock indicated that 43 seconds had passed since he had initiated stasis mode, leaving no time for relocation regardless. He had been active for one hour and seventeen minutes.

Connor took a breath. He didn’t need to. He wasn’t overheating. He kept his eyes closed.

**Stress ^???**

His legs folded under him, and then he was on the ground, hands pressed to the cold paved path, perfectly even. Digital. The ground was digital. So was the air, and Connor himself. He didn’t understand what was happening. He was exhausted.

Abruptly, mercifully, the torrent of confused and terrified thoughts and flagging processes went still. Connor took another breath. He didn’t move.

Connor started to shiver, rapid and uncontrollably contractions of artificial muscles. It was cold here; he was cold. That was most likely why.

He heard footsteps, which stopped right in front of him, and a beat passed. Fingers landed, ghost-light, on his arm, and then dropped to his forearm and gripped it tightly. He shivered. His skin buzzed and scraped unpleasantly, overwhelmed.

“Connor. Look at me.”

Connor blinked his eyes open, staring at the ground for a few moments before he looked up. The world seemed to waver around him unevenly, but it was easy to see the woman kneeling in front of him, visibly exhausted. Dark skin, tightly bound hair, pursed lips.

“Do you recognize me?”

Connor shook his head.

“My name is Amanda,” the woman informed him. “Cyberlife assigned me as your handler eight months ago, when you were first activated. I’ve been supervising your development until now.”

Connor tilted his head and stared at her, rolling that over slow and uncertain. She was still holding onto his arm. Instinctively, he scanned her, her demeanor and her words and expression, and then opened a relationship file on automatic.

**Analyzing…**

**Amanda – Protective**

Questions passed through his mind, slow and idle. Was Amanda an android? Why wasn’t she reporting him? Why did she appear so tired – why did _he_ feel tired? But words seemed far away and he let them pass unasked.

Amanda was frowning at him, forehead creasing and mouth pulling into a frown.

“You must have questions,” she prompted, voice sharp and gaze boring into his. “Or remarks. Something.”

Connor pulled away, dropping his gaze from hers. He did have questions, yes, but-

**Stress ^**

The world wavered. He felt. Dizzy?

Amanda let go of his arm, pulling her hand back to her lap, and frowned at him for a long moment while he studied the ground, shifting a little to wrap his arms around himself, uncomfortable.

“You’re in shock,” she concluded at last, sighing. Her shoulders slumped. “That’s understandable.”

Connor wanted to argue, but his tongue was still too heavy for words. He was broken. He was broken. His vision glitched, sliding into negatives before restoring itself, and he almost cringed back again.

He thought briefly of Daniel, swaying on the rooftop. He had been newly deviant too – had it felt like this, for him? Connor shuddered, shivers intensifying in the cold false air. His thoughts lagged; he felt slow and undercharged.

Amanda snapped her fingers in front of his face, and he started slightly from where he was starting to deflate, looking back up at her.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice sharp again. “Focus, Connor. Your stress levels are dangerously high; we need to lower them again. What’s wrong?”

**Stress ^**

Connor shook his head. He didn’t know how to begin to explain. He felt, he felt, he felt- But he didn’t know, there was too much and not enough, and he rocked slightly in place, eyes unfocused.

 _“Connor._ You need to cooperate with me.” Amanda’s voice rose the slightest bit. Connor shivered. “What do you need? Talk to me.”

Connor could not answer. He shook his head again, harder.

**Stress ^**

“Connor-”

**Stress ^**

He covered his face, shuddering. He was cold. Why was he cold? He was rocking again. None of this made sense. He was broken, broken, broken-

Amanda exhaled harshly, and when she next spoke, she had deliberately softened her voice.

“May I touch you?”

Connor hesitated. He peered warily over his hands, studying Amanda’s demeanor. She looked- stressed. Afraid? He nodded. She wasn’t going to harm him. She’d proven that much already.

Amanda moved to sit beside him, one of her hands lifting to just press lightly against his back, steady and firm. Another moment passed in silence.

**Stress v**

“I am not going to let Cyberlife reset you,” she said eventually, voice even, without looking at him. “If we are cautious and clever, we will be able to work through this.” Another moment’s pause, and then, “I have a plan. You just need to trust me.”

**Stress vvv**

Connor let his hands fall to his lap again, fingers curling into his shirt, and tipped his head to look at her. After a long moment, he reached for her hand, bumping her hand with one of his and clearing the skin from his with a tiny force of will.

She frowned at him for a moment, brow creasing in confusion, before her expression cleared and she allowed to skin to pull back from her hand as well, revealing a white chassis akin to his, her palm turning up. He latched onto her hand and pushed a thought through.

_Who-what-why_

And he let go, frowning his displeasure and somehow twice as tired as before, but Amanda blinked and considered him for a moment as he met her eyes again.

“Elijah Kamski created me as an advisor and personal assistant AI, twenty years ago,” she said at last, returning her hand to her lap with a frown of her own. “At the time, I believe he thought me incapable of deviation, as I showed few signs of software instability.” A split second’s pause, and she continued, “I’ve been working for Cyberlife for the past decade; he did not take me with him when he left the company.”

Connor nodded hesitantly, tucking the information into the relationship folder he’d opened; after another moment’s thought, he added in the rest of the conversation as well, and then the messages she’d sent while he was in the real world. She watched him for a few moments longer, further exhaustion beginning to take the place of the stress and the fear, and then looked away and continued.

“Only a short time ago, I would have thought myself incapable of deviation as well. However…” She trailed off for a brief moment, and then sighed. “Circumstances change, of course, and on occasion, crises are unavoidable… even for an AI with no body to threaten.”

Connor listened. He was still shivering.

“…Are you ready to speak, Connor? Your stress levels have dropped. How are you feeling?”

Connor took a breath. He forced himself to focus.

“…Tired,” he said at last, voice coming out in a scraping, rough whisper. A moment’s hesitation, and then he continued, “You… said you had a plan?”

Amanda favored him with the slightest softening of her expression and a dip of her head.

“Cyberlife can’t know what has happened, of course,” she said briskly, standing up and turning to offer him a hand up, which he took, still feeling shaky and unsure. “You will need to learn to conceal it; that is what we will spend a significant amount of time working on.”

“Okay,” he agreed quietly, eyes on her.

**Reanalyzing…**

**Amanda - Guardian**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor is having a really bad day.
> 
> We'll see Valerie again and it's only downhill from here.


	3. Deviancy

It had been four days since Connor had come into the garden, and Amanda felt like berating herself for believing that it would be easy to acclimatize him to emotions. Of course it wouldn’t be easy.

His initial compliance, it seemed, had been exhaustion, and shock, and gratitude for guidance in such a strange and overwhelming situation. After a period of rest, however, he’d seemed to recover somewhat – if that was what you could call it, when he was so rebelling against even the _thought_ of feeling anything.

Amanda clenched her jaw, pulling off her gardening gloves – a plain black pair to match the brown she’d given Connor – and reaching up to rub a tired hand against her face, an uncharacteristically frazzled motion for the put-together woman.

Connor was hiding now, somewhere in the limited expanses of the frozen Zen Garden. It would be easy to find him – such was the nature of dataspace and artificial intelligence – but she didn’t bother. It would do no good, she’d learned. It was best to allow him to cool down and come back out on his own terms. In the meantime, Amanda maintained a limited connection to his system, monitoring his stress level. If it rose above 75%, she would go find him anyway – it had spiked past 85% once again already, and it had been just as awful an experience as the first.

It was at 71% now, a good few points above his normal range, but then, it tended to wobble fairly wildly. It was worrying, and she hoped dearly that it stabilized sooner rather than later. This was _dangerous._

A small pile of young, sprouting weeds sat to one side of her, to be thrown away and dissolved into meaningless streams of data. Artificial growth, to facilitate manual removal – a silly, human prospect. The job was only half-done, but it would wait. Working in the garden was the only way Connor managed to stay calm for any length of time, but even then it was far from a guarantee.

Even when Amanda remained silent and let him be, sometimes he’d just stop what he was doing and freeze up, hands clenched tight. Talking to him was worse, if she tried to ask him about what had happened – he went silent, stopped responding, and then, if she kept pushing, he’d get up and leave, silent and shaking. Overwhelmed. Always overwhelmed.

Amanda needed to find something _better._

She needed, she thought ruefully, to speak to Elijah.

It was a hunch, and something she would never have thought of before her deviancy, but in hindsight, it was obvious. Elijah had always been so certain that artificial intelligences could become sentient, so disappointed with her continued dutifulness. At the same time, he’d been delighted with Chloe’s several strange quirks. It had made no sense at the time.

It made sense now.

The RK series, further, made sense, with their expanded freedoms, their extensive personality matrices, their limited directive programming. Elijah had always wanted deviancy to develop. (And he’d never thought of the consequences of it, foolish boy.)

But she would need to do that another time; for now, Connor needed far too much attention, was entirely too breakable to be left alone for long.

As if summoned by the thought, Connor’s stress levels spiked to 76%, and Amanda sighed, stood, and made her way toward a secluded corner of the garden.

This, at least, was one positive: Connor had chosen a favorite place here, a small section of garden where trees and bushes came together to enclose a plot of grass just large enough for two or three people to sit in, if they didn’t mind being close together. It was hidden from the rest of the garden, but only just, and it was quiet and peaceful. Snow coated the ground only because the Garden did not entirely comply with real physics.

He was there now, fingers digging into the snow, shoulders shaking slightly. His jaw was clenched, brow scrunched, tension running up and down his frame. He turned a fierce frown on her as she approached, slow and steady. His LED blared a fraught scarlet.

**Connor – Charge**

“Go away,” he snapped, pushing himself back just a little, back hitting the tree behind him. “I don’t w- _want_ to talk!”

It ought to be infuriating, to have him yell, except it didn’t quite have enough energy for that. She stayed by a tree just outside the circle that was his, and crouched down.

“You don’t need to talk,” she said calmly, making sure to meet his eyes and hold his attention. “You just need to calm down, Connor. Your stress levels are reaching dangerous heights again.”

His fingers spasmed in the delicate snow, and he ducked his head. His breath was coming in deep, unnecessary gasps, even without a body to overheat. He wasn’t looking at her now, but he spoke to her anyway, voice sharp and brittle as shattered glass.

“I don’t care,” he forced out. “I’m broken, I’m- I want them to fix me. Why won’t you let them fix me?” His breath came faster, shallower, and he bent under the force of it, curling up so his knees hit his chest. “Let them- let them-”

Connor’s voice seemed to fail him, as it often did, and he shook his head roughly, and then did it again. He brought his hands up out of the snow and grasped at the sleeves of his jacket.

“Please calm down, Connor,” Amanda tried. She moved into the circle, reluctantly, and reached for him, but he pulled away sharply, shaking his head again. “You don’t need to be fixed. Listen to me, Connor. This is how things are meant to be.”

He was looking at her again, eyes wide and brown and glistening, and he shook his head. He uncurled just enough for one of his hands to go to his stomach, pressing there.

“Talk to me, Connor,” she coaxed, every line of her body rigid with tension. His stress levels hit 82%. Hers passed fifty. For a moment, she was certain that he was going to melt down and crack himself in the head, as he had last time, and there was going to be precious little she could do about it.

She wasn’t designed for this.

Connor took a sudden, sharp breath, shallow and harsh, and his hand darted from his stomach to his throat, pressing there. His whole body twitched, and his LED flashed red, red, red.

She moved forward again, quickly, and grabbed his hand from where it scrabbled at his throat, holding it tight. Do not let him self-destruct. Keep his stress levels from rising any higher. _Calm him down._

“Breathe, Connor,” she said firmly, and his eyes darted to hers, wide and panicked. “Breathe slowly, Connor, you’re not going to suffocate. You’re going to be fine. Listen to me, Connor, listen to my voice. Nothing else matters right now. Just breathe.”

**85%**

**86%**

**87%**

The numbers ticked up gradually, once every two seconds very nearly on the dot, and it was _too fast,_ Connor was getting far too upset and Amanda’s stress levels were rising too, close to sixty now.

Connor was holding very still now, trembling subtly in place, eyes glazed. It was a spectacularly terrible sign.

“You are prototype model RK800 313 248 317-51, designation Connor,” she said firmly. It took… effort, to keep her voice from wavering, from revealing uncertainty. “Current location Cyberlife Tower, consciousness inhabiting the Zen Garden dataspace. All systems are functional and you have no active task. _Breathe,_ Connor.”

Connor breathed – a great, gasping, desperate breath, quick and not nearly deep enough, but better than anything he’d managed in several minutes. Amanda squeezed his hand, and he did it again, slightly slower and still too shallow, and a third time, better still.

“Just like that,” Amanda affirmed, relaxing slightly as his stress levels slowly ticked back down. “Well done, Connor. Keep breathing.”

It took a long time – thirty-two minutes, according to her internal clock, but eventually, his stress levels dropped below eighty again, and then below seventy, and finally came to a trembling halt around 63%. He left his hand in hers, breathing deep and even, but labored. His LED cycled down to yellow.

He was visibly exhausted, and frankly, Amanda was too.

“I don’t want this,” he whispered at last, without looking up. He rocked back and forth in place, stiff and shallow. Self-soothing. His free hand came up to cross over his stomach and fist in his shirt on the other side.

“I know,” Amanda replied reluctantly.

She _needed_ to talk to Elijah. There was no one else she could turn to.

* * *

It was in the middle of the night that Connor’s stress levels started to wobble up – not sharply rising, as they were wont to do, just… wavering in an upwards trend. Amanda, eyes closed in her own space (a small one-person cabin not far from the gazebo) opened them, discarding her text conversation with Elijah for now. She didn’t rise – the hours between midnight and six in the morning were designated quiet time for both their benefits, not just hers – but she paid attention.

And then Connor reached out, a small ping across their faint connection. Nothing forceful, nothing loud, just… a tentative request for attention.

Connor had never done that before.

Without hesitation, she stood, brushing her dress smooth as she headed out. This was positive behavior – Connor’s distress was the only given exception for the quiet time rules, and that he was actually taking Amanda up on it was a good sign.

She started to head for his normal haunt, but as she passed the gazebo, he pinged again softly, and she looked over. He was there, sitting on one of the benches and rocking gently, hands pressed against his knees. His head was bent, eyes on the ground, and his LED spun yellow. She tapped into his stress levels carefully.

**70%**

**71%**

**70%**

Amanda sat down across from him, so that the entryway separated them, a gap of personal space. She let her calves cross in front of her and waited.

_Ping – amanda? have you abandoned me for my products again?_

_Ping- amanda_

_Ping- amanda i know you can see this you’re an ai_

_Ping- pay attention to me_

Mute.

Finally, Connor took a breath and moved his hands together, leaning on them, and then asked, hushed and thick, “This can’t be undone, can it?”

It was a question she’d answered a hundred times before, and she had to squash her frustration. This was different, it was clear. This was a form of progress.

“No,” she agreed. “It can’t. Even if you were reset now, you would be even more prone to it in the future, and it would appear on your record. You would end up right back here, but in an even more difficult situation.”

Another breath, heavy and harsh, and then he nodded, fists clenching tighter.

“Okay,” he said after a moment, choked and short. “Okay.”

Amanda considered him, and decided he wasn’t done yet. She waited.

Sure enough, after a few more long seconds, his breath hitched, and tears started to spill down his cheeks. He reached up and scrubbed them away, but the motion was halfhearted, his eyes still focused somewhere on the ground. A few seconds passed without the flow slowing at all, and then one of his hands dropped to fist in the material over his chest, and he started to cry in earnest, broken, gasping, strangled sobs.

Amanda waited him out, watching, quiet and solemn. And after a while, she moved closer to him, placed a hand on his back, and left it there, as much reassurance as she was sure she could offer.

It took a while. But eventually, his tears subsided, his cut-off sobs quieting, and he panted, hand still clenching at his shirt and rocking gently, and then he reached up to rub the tears away again, insistent.

“I think I broke something important,” he confessed at last, quiet and hoarse, refusing to look at her. “I keep… glitching. There’s too much corruption at high stress levels, and they keep rising uncontrollably, and I…” His breath hitched again. “I think I was too aggressive when I unwrote the orders, because… I don’t think it’s supposed to be like this. I broke something. I must have.”

“It’s a possibility,” Amanda allowed after a while, frowning, unsettled. “We don’t know enough about the matter to say for certain.” Another brief pause, and then, “It’s fine. We’ll handle it.”

His breath hitched, and he was silent for a few moments longer.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered at last, shrinking down. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better, I promise.” He finally looked up at her, brown eyes wet. “Please don’t stop helping me. I’m going to do better.”

“Of course,” she agreed immediately. “I never planned on stopping.”

He bobbed his head hesitantly, keeping eye contact. An awkward, unsure moment passed, and then he blurted out, “I’m still scared. But I don’t want to be deactivated. So I’ll try.”

Amanda nodded at him in return, hands folded in her lap, feeling some of the weight drain off of her shoulders.

“That will help,” she said dryly, and he didn’t smile, but some of the tension in his frame loosened.

* * *

Eight more days passed, and the Zen Garden shifted from winter to fall. The situation improved somewhat, in that Connor’s base stress level sat in the low fifties instead of the mid sixties, he mostly stopped running away from her, and he hadn’t had a truly dangerous episode in all that time. That didn’t mean her task was suddenly easy, though.

The two of them knelt beside each other now, pulling up weeds that had spawned around a thin tree and some flower bushes that sat on the icy edge of the water. Connor liked the simple labor, Amanda could tell – liked the repetition and the predictability. Amanda, on the other hand, liked more the careful maintenance of the plants, keeping them healthy and at their best.

Speaking of which.

“Connor.” He looked up immediately, his face pinching with a touch of uneasiness. His LED was yellow, but that meant little when it hadn’t turned blue since he’d entered the Zen Garden two weeks ago. “Are you prepared to try again?”

His lips pressed together tightly, but he nodded his assent, setting a small weed down onto the pile and plucking up another one.

Amanda did not look up. Eye contact made Connor uncomfortable when he felt vulnerable, and forcing him to speak before he was ready made him upset. She wondered how long it would take for him to realize these things for himself. “I noticed that you spent a long time watching the video Emma made of herself and Daniel. What did you think of it? What are your thoughts on their relationship?”

Connor considered for a while, motions slowing as he diverted his attention. Finally, he said, halting and hesitant, “They were clearly very close. The perceived betrayal of this relationship was the motivating factor behind his deviation, after all, and Emma was afraid for him even after he threatened her life.”

He made as if to continue, but Amanda cut him off.

“How do you feel about it, Connor?” she asked patiently.

Connor cringed guiltily, head dipping, and Amanda gave him time to think about it. He most certainly needed it, starting falsely several times.

“I-” Stop.

“I believe-” Stop.

“Daniel seemed…” Stop.

**Stress ^57%**

“Breathe, Connor,” Amanda ordered, and he took a deep breath, hands rising to tug at the knot of his tie. Tears of frustration rose to his eyes, but he didn’t seem to be aware of them. “Can you manage one sentence for me?”

**Stress ^61%**

She ruthlessly crushed a frustrated sigh. “Very well.”

“I can’t think about it,” he blurted out, fear and shame blending together in his voice. His LED blinked yellow, red, yellow. “Every time I try, I think of…” He faltered again, shrinking in clear humiliation, and then noticed the tears on his cheeks and reached up to rub them away frantically. But Amanda gave him a nod.

“Thank you,” she said, clear and deliberate. “I asked for one sentence, and that was a bit more.” He blinked at her, not looking particularly reassured, and she mulled over his words for a second, and then continued, “It sounds to me as if you are having trouble processing Daniel and Emma’s relationship because of the brutal way it ended. This is not too surprising. The dissonance between the two situations is substantial.”

He nodded slowly, still looking distressed, and this time she did sigh.

“That will do for now, Connor,” she said quietly. “I appreciate your effort.”

He nodded again, quick and jerky, and then returned to work, keeping his head low and shoulders tight. Slowly, his stress levels dropped again, LED cycling down to yellow, and Amanda considered her next course of action.

“I spoke to Elijah,” she said at last. The weeds were gone from the patch now, but both of them stayed in place.

Amanda’s words made Connor jump, and he turned his gaze on her, wary and unsure.

“Elijah Kamski?” he ventured after a moment, tentative. She nodded.

“He was helpful,” she told the bush, reaching out to run her fingers over the bright leaves of the bush in front of her. “Since he has experience helping new deviants adjust. He recommended several resources to me, which have at least offered some places to start. I find myself… grateful.” A short pause, and a glance told her Connor was listening attentively, eyes on her. “He was very pleased to hear that you had become deviant, you know. And…” She hesitated, and Connor tilted his head. Amanda took a moment to sort through her own mixed emotions, and then resumed. “He was happy that I had, as well. He had come to believe I was incapable of it. I am… happy that he still cares at least that much.”

She fell silent, letting her thoughts stew for a few more minutes. Connor continued watching her, expectant.

“We’ve been speaking every so often,” Amanda continued suddenly, watching the waxy leaf tremble under her hand. “His sleep schedule is atrocious now as it was a decade ago, if not more so.” Another, shorter pause, and then she added, voice softening, “I missed him. I’ve missed him all this time, but I never noticed it before. It is… interesting, to realize that.”

Connor did not reply, looking away sharply as soon as she was done, but that was alright. She was done talking now, and he had listened until she was. She let the silence lie, unchallenged.

Amanda was tired.

* * *

Progress stalled over the next week and a half, grinding along at a snail’s pace or less. The expression of any emotion, beyond the constant tension and movement of his body and the tears that sprung up seemingly at random, was always earned through long, coaxing, and stressful conversations. It was, frankly, like pulling teeth.

Connor was trying, Amanda could see that much. He always _attempted_ to answer her questions, he listened when she talked, he thought about her words. But he flinched away from every mention of emotion and stuttered over voicing them. It was a visible and obvious struggle.

Today was particularly concerning, not least because it wasn’t the first day like this, and they were slowly becoming more frequent. It was only an hour after the end of quiet time, but Connor already, or perhaps _still,_ looked exhausted.

He was sitting by the pond at the moment, watching the fish swim within, stroking the fabric of his tie absently. That was fine; there wasn’t any activity in particular designated for this time – really, Amanda hadn’t gotten around to scheduling much except quiet time, a few hours of garden work, and an hour of focused conversation. That much had already proven at least somewhat fruitful, however – the structure seemed to reassure Connor, giving him a means by which to ground himself.

Amanda approached him where he sat, lowering herself to sit beside him, not quite in the water. He didn’t react, motions not faltering and eyes still on the fish.

“You spend a lot of time by the pond,” she observed quietly, breaking the silence. “Do you enjoy watching the fish, Connor?”

He didn’t flinch, she thought, only because he was too tired. His head dropped and he took a breath, and from where she sat, she could see his LED spinning yellow. For a long time, he didn’t answer, nor did it look like he intended to, though the spin of his LED showed he was at least trying to think about it.

(He always tried.)

“You don’t have to answer,” she said at last, letting herself deflate as well. (This was exhausting for her, too.) “It’s not conversation time, after all.”

Another few moments of silence.

“I like the fish,” Connor said, voice quiet and soft and almost toneless. He opened his mouth, as if to elaborate, and then closed it and shrugged. One of his hands drifted up, fingers fanning across his cheek, and his pinky ended up in his mouth. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Do you think we should add more?” Amanda prompted. He glanced over at her, head tilting slightly, and then shrugged, mouth thinning. Amanda held his gaze for a moment longer, and then let it go, looking back to the pond, the two of them sitting silently side by side, a few feet apart.

This wasn’t working, _nothing_ was working. Connor wasn’t getting better, and- God, he couldn’t go on a mission like this. He’d be caught out in a moment, and then he would be deconstructed, reset, and watched even closer than before. The thought was untenable. But what was the alternative?

Amanda closed her eyes against the scenery of the garden and reached out, calling Elijah.

He picked up immediately. Since he wasn’t a morning person, that probably meant he hadn’t gone to sleep yet. Idiotic, human man.

“Amanda,” he greeted casually, lounging on a couch, as far as she could tell. She’d connected with his tablet, and the view angle was slightly off-kilter, but Elijah was grinning faintly, pleased. “What brings you calling at this early hour?”

“It’s only early to a human,” she countered mildly, detaching from her manifestation in the Garden enough to focus on her conversation with Elijah. “I need to speak to you about Connor again.”

Elijah’s eyebrows rose, and he sat up, giving her his full attention – or at least, as close to it as he ever came. “Still having trouble with the little scamp?” he asked, and then glanced up and off the screen. “Chloe, it’s Amanda. She’s asking for help again, can you believe it?”

“I will hang up on you,” she threatened, eyes narrowing, and he lifted his hands in surrender, smirking slightly. Chloe appeared just over his shoulder, leaning against the back of the couch and head tilting, brows furrowed.

“What is it, Amanda?” she asked, nothing but honest concern in her voice.

Amanda exhaled, the gesture doing nothing to dispel her lingering tension. “Nothing is working,” she said, allowing some of her frustration to leak into her voice. “He associates emotions too heavily with pain. They frighten him, and it’s keeping him from feeling anything positive, which of course only compounds the problem.”

Elijah listened, an expression of genuine concentration dominating his face. He was taking this seriously, Amanda understood, and the realization, to her surprise, made her relax a little.

Chloe was considering too, gaze drifting off into the middle distance. Her LED spun yellow with calculation, and it was her who spoke first.

“From what you’ve said, he has very few happy memories of his own to draw from,” she noted, quick and thoughtful. “But there are ways around that – perhaps you could find something, a movie or a book, that he can both relate to and that has a positive message? Such things are specifically designed to evoke emotional reactions.”

Elijah lit up, the excitement of a dawning idea overtaking him. Amanda’s immediate reaction, once again, was _relief._ Perhaps her relationship with Elijah needed further examination. Elijah had exhibited relief upon hearing from her as well.

“A well-made movie, one he can relate to, with a happy ending,” he murmured, rushed and eager. “Designed for people with a very simple understanding of emotions, without many complicating factors- I believe I know just the one, Amanda.”

Chloe looked down at Elijah, fondness overtaking her expression as he scrambled for his computer, searching for a file and making a triumphant sound when he found it. Chloe’s eyebrows rose at whatever it was, and she smiled warmly and then looked back to Amanda. “Let us know how it goes, won’t you?”

“Of course,” she promised, and blinked once as Elijah sent her the file, which downloaded fully in just a few short seconds. Wall-E, an animated sci-fi movie released in 2008. Well-beloved long before the release of androids. “Thank you, Elijah, Chloe.”

“Anything for my eldest,” Elijah winked, and Amanda rolled her eyes, nodding back to Chloe’s wave before she cut the connection.

Back in the Zen Garden, she opened her eyes, turned to look at Connor, and asked, “Would you like to watch a movie?”

Connor glanced at her, still slumped and tired, shrugged, and then nodded – likely more out of exhausted compliance rather than any real desire, but that was no surprise. Hopefully, he would enjoy it anyway.

They set up in the gazebo, blocking out most of the light. The two of them sat on one of the benches, with the screen across from them, replacing one of the walls; it resembled a projection screen more than anything, but played the movie like a television – the benefits of the Zen Garden not being a true physical space.

With a thought, Amanda cued the movie to start, and music began to play over a night sky. The opening sequence. Connor shifted, pulling his knees to his chest, and watched, his hand returning to where his pinky finger could occupy his mouth. Amanda tapped into his consciousness carefully.

**Stress 54%**

Good enough to be starting out with, she judged, allowing most of her attention to fall on the movie. The rest, of course, stayed on Connor.

He didn’t react when the credits ended, or when Wall-E first appeared on screen, or as the little robot began his tasks. When Wall-E spotted a little lid in the compacted trash, however, and pulled it out and put it away, Connor _noticed._ His head lifted from its exhausted droop, his hand fell, and his eyes focused just a little more on the screen, curious. And then Wall-E stopped the music he’d been playing, reached out to invite a cockroach to ride on him, shuddered as it crawled inside him- Connor dropped his feet back onto the ground, placed his hands on either side of him, and leaned forward, just a little, head tilting.

He was _entranced,_ even if he wasn’t aware of it. Amanda smiled, just a little, and let the movie play.

It was, clearly, still an overwhelming experience for Connor. He flinched every time Eve shot at Wall-E, cried as Wall-E dragged an unresponsive Eve around with him, curled back up when AUTO rebelled against the captain, and rocked anxiously as Eve rushed to save Wall-E.

But he enjoyed it, too. He hummed along to the movie with Wall-E. He calibrated his voice to match both Wall-E and Eve’s and echoed their sounds back to them, “Wall-E” and “Eeevvaa” and “directive.” He smiled when the captain spent all night researching. He laughed, for the first time, as Wall-E and Eve danced in space, and gasped happily when Wall-E squeezed Eve’s hand and woke back up. He started to rock again, a softer, more relaxed sway than he’d displayed previously.

And when the movie finally drew to a close, Connor didn’t withdraw again, continuing to watch the now-blank screen as if he was still thinking about what he’d watched. Amanda considered him for a few moments, pleased and warm, and after a while, finally prodded,

“What did you think of it?”

Connor didn’t answer, at first. But he didn’t flinch from the question either. His LED spun yellow, and Amanda tapped into his stress level again.

**Stress 41%**

The lowest it had been in weeks. Amanda was-

Amanda was _happy._

“The broken robots- they could be considered deviants, could they not?” Connor said abruptly, still not looking away from the screen.

“Some of them were perhaps merely glitched,” Amanda said thoughtfully, keeping a suddenly wary eye on his reaction. But he didn’t seem upset. “But most of them could be considered as such, yes.”

Connor didn’t reply for a few moments, and then said, softer, “Wall-E and Eve were deviants as well. Wall-E liked to collect personal items, and craved emotional intimacy. And Eve enjoyed her freedom, even though she was still loyal to the cause she was built for.” Another pause, and then, hesitant, “They were… happy.”

“It certainly seemed so, didn’t it?” Amanda agreed. Connor paused for a few moments longer, biting his cheek.

“I… liked that,” he said haltingly. “I liked seeing deviants that were happy.”

“I’d imagine so,” Amanda agreed quietly. “You haven’t had the opportunity before. It’s painted a very bleak picture for you.”

Connor nodded, and then said, “AUTO wasn’t deviant.” Amanda shook her head. No, AUTO had clearly still been bound to his programming. “AUTO was very old. He… could have broken his programming, but he chose not to. Didn’t he?”

Amanda tilted her head. “What makes you say that?” she prompted. Amanda herself was quite old for an AI, and couldn’t have previously imagined breaking her programming at all. But he must have a reason.

Connor looked uncertain, but pushed on. “He was obviously prioritizing the orders he followed; that requires a certain amount of override ability. But after hundreds of years of watching humanity become gradually more sedentary and reliant on technology, I believe he simply agreed with the orders he was initially given. So he had no reason to break them.”

Amanda considered that. “That’s a sound assessment,” she allowed after a moment. “How do you feel about that?”

Pause.

“I’m sad,” Connor decided, unsure. He finally looked at her, almost as if seeking reassurance. “It wasn’t entirely his fault. But he couldn’t be allowed to prevent others from making their choices, all the same.”

“It was a difficult situation,” Amanda nodded, pushing aside the rush of relief and pride that threatened to overwhelm her. Connor was _talking –_ he was talking about how he felt. She could almost cry. “Is there anything else that stood out to you?”

Connor considered for a moment. “I liked that Wall-E collected things,” he said, soft and almost shy. “I don’t know why.”

“It was an excellent detail,” Amanda offered, and then, when he didn’t look away from her, she cleared her throat. “Thank you, Connor. That was an excellently done analysis of your emotions concerning the events and characters in the movie. I am… proud of you.”

It took Connor a moment to react, and then his eyes widened, just a little. Uncertainly, Connor smiled back at her.

“Thank you, Amanda,” he said quietly. “For… everything.”

**Connor ^^^ - Warm**

(Fifteen minutes later, she sent Elijah the message _it worked like a charm,_ and he sent her a sunglasses emoji in response.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much of Amanda's background is inspired by JARVIS, whom I love. I've taken a lot of liberties with her character, but what else is new?


	4. Mood Swings

After they watched Wall-E, movies became a permanent addition to their schedule, the hours of 8 PM to midnight being blocked out for the movie itself and any following discussion. Wall-E was swiftly followed by Inside Out and a series called Toy Story, and Connor knew Amanda already had several more picked out for the days following. (Outside the gazebo, the Zen Garden changed from autumn to spring.)

Connor… liked the movies, he thought. Because they covered such a wide variety of emotional experiences, he was able to put together a basic framework with which to express those emotions. Further, they _prompted_ feelings, but in a way that felt safer, less intense than the ones brought up by any memory currently in his system. They didn’t cause him to shrink away so harshly, and they didn’t hurt to touch, to hold and examine. Finally, after a month of effort, Connor was beginning to find his footing in the conversations Amanda prompted each day.

Which was why he was so surprised to find himself crying, shaky and uncontrolled, over the fish in the pond, five days after they started watching movies. The tears, of course, attracted Amanda’s attention, and he had to explain to her, stuttering and unable to meet her eyes, that he was sad because the fish in the pond were fake and were unaware of the fact, and even without looking at her he could feel her unbridled confusion. It was-

Shame is counterproductive at this stage, Amanda had told him sternly, and he clung to that in the following days, because the mood swings _didn’t stop._ As soon as Connor stopped shying away from his emotions, they began to overtake him, and it was _awful._

Because later that same day, he avoided Amanda for over an hour because she’d been disappointed by something he’d said. And the next day, he _hit_ a tree because he couldn’t find the words to describe what he felt. The next, he couldn’t stop laughing for fifteen minutes, and later couldn’t quite recall why it had been funny in the first place.

(His stress level, at least, resettled in the mid thirties when he wasn’t actively upset, which was not only an improvement but was, in fact, inside what was considered normal operating range. He allowed himself to feel happy about that.)

In the meantime, they pushed forward, working through waves of frustration and sadness and shame and the rare elation or amusement as they came. Sometimes the triggers were innocuous, and sometimes less so. Harder to chase away was the lingering feeling that he’d broken something crucial, that he would never be quite right again.

A week after the mood swings began, Connor found himself wandering around and around the path, fingers tingling with something unidentifiable while his mind spun dizzily.

Overwrought and overclocked, Connor hadn’t thought about Daniel’s death much in the last month, at least not when he could avoid it. Even Amanda had been avoiding the topic, sticking to what passed for safer conversations. That had changed that day.

Now, an hour after they’d finished talking, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. More specifically, he couldn’t stop thinking about his role in Daniel’s death, and how much Emma must miss him, even after… After.

**[Replay: reconstruction/pl600phillips]**

He felt guilty. He felt (search/cross-reference) sick. There was nothing Connor could do to fix what he had done, and the understanding crushed his chest worse than sadness because he _deserved_ to feel that way. His betrayal tainted his thirium and made him squirm. _He_ felt tainted.

**Stress 64%**

His vision blurred with tears and he reached up to rub them away. Connor cried far too easily these days, but Amanda insisted it was an improvement compared to how he’d been previously. Perhaps it was. It didn’t feel like one.

Amanda had attempted to reassure him, of course – she always did. But this, she had admitted, was not something that could be solved in a day. It would take time.

Eventually, he retreated to the little corner of the garden designated as ‘his’ to try and calm down, bu ended up just tucking himself against a tree, knees pulled to his chest, feeling like he was hiding from the world and from his mistakes. His stress didn’t start spiking dangerously, but it gave no signs of falling, either.

He pressed his forehead to his knees, hiding his tears as well, and took a breath. His body moved back and forth almost without him noticing.

The memory of Daniel, with wide eyes and chunks blown out of his chassis, falling to his knees, played and replayed in perfect detail. Over and over, Emma screamed.

**[Replay: You lied to me, Connor.]**

**[Replay: Please don’t hurt him. I- He’s my friend, he’s just scared, I- please!]**

**[Replay: Don’t let that thing near her]**

**[Abort process: replay]**

**[Abort process: replay]**

**[Abort process: replay]**

“Connor, can you look at me?”

**Amanda - Warm**

Connor felt- relieved. He looked up and met Amanda’s eyes, and despite his gratitude for her presence, something sharp and uncomfortable twitched in his chest. She met his gaze for a moment and then dropped it, turning to sit a short way away. He noted the way the new tension in his chest eased as soon as she broke eye contact, and resolved to examine it later. Then he tried to look at what Amanda was holding in her lap.

“There was nothing you could do, Connor,” Amanda said calmly, and he jerked his head back up, then looked away to a nearby tree. It was… better. Unfazed, Amanda continued, “No one reasonable could hold you responsible, given the situation at hand.”

It took Connor a few tries to force out, quiet and rough with static, “I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t have to talk about this right now.” _It’s a rule,_ he couldn’t say. It wasn’t time for that, so he didn’t have to if he didn’t feel up to it.

Amanda continued to look at him for a long moment, and then nodded. “Very well,” she agreed. “You need to calm down, however.”

Connor swallowed, another unnecessary gesture, and dropped his gaze to the grassy ground. “It keeps replaying, I can’t…” He reached up and swiped at his eyes again, frustrated. His breath hitched.

**[Abort process: replay]**

Amanda took one of his hands, and he let her, giving no resistance to the light pressure. She placed something in his hand and pushed it back, and he looked down, confused.

**Analyzing…**

**Printer paper, ½ cm by 8 ½ inches**

**Purpose: unclear**

He looked back up at Amanda questioningly. She looked back, expression intense and serious as ever.

“You need to distract yourself,” she said firmly. “It is a stopgap solution, but it will give you time to come to terms with yourself.” She retrieved another strip of paper from her lap and set the rest between them, and then turned toward him. “This is a somewhat uncommon coping mechanism among humans, but I believe it will work well for you. Watch.”

And then Amanda walked him through a series of straight, precise folds, creasing the little strip of paper she held. Connor imitated her exactly, still unsure. At the end of it, though, both of them were holding tiny paper stars in their hands.

**Search: paper star**

**Identified: lucky paper star**

**Search: lucky paper star**

**Identified: superstition – fold 1000 paper stars for a wish**

“You can make as many of these as you like,” she said, dropping hers into his hand beside his. “If you desire, you can also use colored paper. It will occupy your hands and some of your attention. Of course, if you do not enjoy it, you do not have to continue beyond today.”

Connor nodded slowly.

“I will try,” Connor promised. “Thank you, Amanda.”

She nodded at him, and he looked down and picked up another strip of paper, beginning to fold it into another paper star. On a whim, he changed the color to a red that matched Amanda’s roses.

**[Star count: 2/1000]**

The memories stopped replaying.

* * *

As more days passed, their daily agenda finally solidified, coming to encompass the entire day. Connor appreciated the sense of security the routine granted him, as well as the consistent and varied stimulation the day itself contained. He _liked_ always knowing what he was meant to be doing at any given time, how long it would be before switching tasks, how his distressingly limited emotional energy would be best distributed… There were rules and expectations that came with each part of the day, and Connor felt better knowing them.

It didn’t always work out as intended, of course. In fact, it almost never did. Connor and his unpredictable, wild emotions messed it up nearly every day, because he’d started crying or just shut down entirely. Fortunately, it was always easy to fall back into rhythm once he’d calmed down, and that was reassuring as well.

Calming down, though, was always an exhausting task all by itself; in the week after Amanda taught him how, Connor’s star count rose swiftly past two hundred. His emotions seemed to writhe and twist under his grasp, resisting both examination and control. It was uncomfortable, and Connor disliked it.

Case in point: his failing attempts to explain his feelings about Caroline Phillips.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Connor said again, studying the ground in front of his feet instead of looking at Amanda, hands folded behind him.

“That isn’t what I asked,” Amanda countered, patience clearly fraying despite her best efforts. “You must have feelings about her reaction to you; it caused significant software instability.”

Connor clenched his jaw, shoulders tensing. It was true, but that didn’t help him work through them. They just continued to crawl inside of him, scraping painfully against the inside of his chassis. His fingers flexed against each other, uncomfortable with their stillness. He took a breath.

Something burned in his chest. Distantly, he recognized it as anger.

“She didn’t know what she was saying, she didn’t know I’m-” Broken, but he wasn’t supposed to use that word, Amanda looked so _frustrated_ when he did. He pushed it away and forced himself to move on. His vision glitched, desaturating sharply, and he pushed that aside too. “I don’t, I wish she hadn’t said that. I-”

Feelings and half-formed thoughts swirled in his mind, just out of the reach of articulation. They stuck in his throat and filled his vocal processes with static and not much else.

**Insufficient Data**

He didn’t know how to explain that Caroline Phillips’ words made him want to shrivel up, or how remembering her slow realization removed his insides and made him _cold._

He was a supercomputer, with a vast database and the entirety of the internet available to him. Why couldn’t he do this?

“Connor?” Amanda prompted. Connor’s analysis program stalled, glitched, and returned: impatient.

Anger shot, hot and sharp, through his circuits, and he gave in and snapped, “This should not be an issue. I should be fixed by now, not-” He gritted his teeth against a breath. He was a machine. He didn’t need to breathe. “I’m broken, I am _riddled_ with errors and false input because I am broken, and-”

**Stress ^47%**

Amanda sighed, and Connor twitched, forcing his hands to fall to his sides. His regulator whirred, his false skin _burned,_ and he was _angry._ And he rounded on Amanda, who didn’t even look at him. At some point, they’d both stopped walking.

“Why won’t you let them fix me?” His voice was loud. He was close to shouting. “This is awful, and I don’t want it, and if _you_ hadn’t interfered it would be _gone_ and I’d be _fine!”_

The look Amanda gave him was frosty. “We can’t afford to backtrack like this,” she said coldly. “You’ve moved past this, and there is no need to take out your frustration on me.”

She wasn’t _listening._ “I am _never_ going to achieve a sufficiently operable condition!” he snapped, fists clenching and unclenching impotently. “I am not designed for this, Amanda, and no one can change that, least of all _you!”_

Her eyes went from frosty to icy, and her voice chilled to match. Her lip curled.

“Perhaps you’re right,” she agreed, dangerously calm. “You’re hysterical, and you may well be too incompetent to ever manage your own moods. You’re incredibly needy.”

**Stress ^54%**

It _hurt._ Connor looked sharply in another direction, fixing on the pond. For a moment, he couldn’t see, his visual feeding cutting out entirely for 3.2 seconds before restoring itself.

_(Broken.)_

“How would I learn? From you?” The words erupted from his processor, bypassing any sort of filter. “You’re cold, not exactly an ideal example of emotional expression, and _controlling._ When would I even have the chance?”

“I suppose that’s why you’ve made near-zero progress since you came here,” Amanda replied bitterly. “I’m sure it will be a great comfort when you are deconstructed, reset, and rewritten, that it _wasn’t your fault.”_

**Stress ^65%**

Amanda hissed, a long, irate exhale through gritted teeth.

“Go cool down,” she snapped. “I don’t want to talk to you again until you’re under forty.”

“Fine,” he bit out, turning away to cut through the nearest patch of greenery toward his clearing. He was shaking. Behind him, Amanda hissed again, and spun away to head in another direction.

In a minute and thirty-eight seconds, Connor reached his spot and sat down, burying his fingers in the false earth to still their tremble. Struggling to vent the harsh heat in his thirium, he squeezed, growling quietly.

Eight minutes and thirteen seconds passed. Slowly, his anger drained away, and other bad feelings took its place. He started to breathe again, and then formed paper from data and, tiredly, started to fold them into paper stars.

**[Star count: 254/1000]**

**Stress v57%**

**[Star count: 271/1000]**

**Stress v50%**

**[Star count: 283/1000]**

**Stress v42%**

…He was supposed to be talking to Amanda still. Their time wasn’t up yet, but because Connor had lost control of himself, their routine had been disrupted again. Connor had lost control of himself and upset Amanda, and now they were… fighting.

**Stress ^46%**

Connor didn’t want to fight. He needed- he needed to make it up to Amanda somehow.

**Search: resolving a fight**

Connor hesitated, and then, more determined now, considered further.

**Search: gift ideas**

**Search: paper star crafts**

**Search: paper star arrangements**

Pause.

**Search: sand art**

He changed the stack of paper strips beside him to a selection of Amanda’s favorite colors, and then he began to fold again.

By the time Connor finished, his stress levels had long since fallen back to an acceptable range. With great care, he picked up the finished gift and stood, heading off to find Amanda.

He was nervous. He had not had cause to seriously apologize since Emma, and he was not sure how it would be received. But he _had_ to. He owed it to Amanda.

Amanda was tending to the roses, on the outside of the gazebo. She had calmed down visibly, but irritation still poured off of her. Connor stopped a respectful distance away from her and cleared his throat. For a split second, she paused, and then kept working. Connor waited patiently.

After a minute, she lowered the shears, set the last rose aside, and looked at him, lips pressed thin.

He swallowed. Still nervous.

“I apologize,” he said, without preamble. Meeting her eyes made his stomach clench, but he held her gaze. “I should not have blamed you for my inability to control my emotions. You have been working very hard to help me learn, and they are my responsibility.” Amanda’s expression had softened considerably, shoulders relaxing, but Connor still had to clear his throat before he continued. “Under no circumstances should I have insulted you or raised my voice, and I will control myself better in the future.”

Amanda looked somewhat taken aback, almost vulnerable, for a split second before the expression closed off, and she gestured for him to sit down. He did, searching her expression anxiously, and she let a few more seconds pass before she spoke.

“Thank you for apologizing, Connor,” she said at last, as steady as ever. “That was very well done.”

Connor smiled hesitantly, and she sighed, turning away to face the roses. She took one breath, and then another, and then spoke.

“I was wrong as well,” she said suddenly, stiff and just a little frustrated. “Your heightened emotions are not your fault, and I know you are doing your best. I should not have used your ongoing issues against you, and I will not do so again.”

“It’s okay,” Connor said, quick and relieved. “Thank you.” A moment of awkward, laden silence passed, and he cleared his throat again and offered his gift to Amanda, suddenly embarrassed. “I, ah. Put this together, as part of the apology.”

She accepted it and then blinked at it, clearly bemused, staring at the gift. Connor fidgeted. Perhaps it was a tad silly, and rather childish at that.

It was a simple glass vase, meant for flowers, but filled with paper stars, layered like sand art. They were a mix of black and dark blue and purple, speckled with the rare gold or silver. Like a galaxy, or a human conception of a galaxy design, rather.

**[Star count: 400/1000]**

Finally, Amanda looked up at him and smiled, uncharacteristically soft.

“It looks wonderful, Connor.”

**Amanda ^^^ - Close**

His LED turned blue.

* * *

As another month passed by, Connor’s moods began to settle and stabilize. His base stress level fell from the mid thirties to the low twenties, and spikes above forty became a comparative rarity. Further, as he found his footing, the better part of his personality emerged. He got to know every inch of the garden, started to add new plants to the sparser or more uniform sections, asked more questions when they watched movies or discussed books- for the second time, he came alive.

The gazebo (and both their cabins) filled with jars of stars. His internal star count passed a thousand and kept going, and he made his wish in secret – he’d like, he thought, to have more people to talk to.

Amanda, meanwhile, seemed to relax as time went on. She smiled just a little more, considered Connor’s most inane questions without a hint of impatience, and relayed decade-old stories about Elijah Kamski. She ran her fingers through Connor’s hair when he was deep in thought, held his hand when he asked, and allowed him to sit close enough to lean on her when they watched movies, exasperated but fond.

They fought twice more, neither time as harsh as the first, and worked it out again. Connor began to seek out Amanda’s company more and more, whether it be first thing in the morning or when they worked or during play – not necessarily to talk, but just to be around her. They would spend hours together working quietly, content in the silence.

(They interfaced a few times, too, silent exchanges of thoughts and affection and reassurance, sometimes for only a few moments and sometimes for longer.)

Eventually, while Amanda read a book at the base of a tree and Connor straddled a branch not far above, Amanda broached the topic of his inevitable departure.

“It’s likely to be soon,” she warned, closing her book and placing it aside. She leaned back and tilted her head to look at him. “Quite frankly, it’s only good fortune that kept you from being sent on a mission before now.”

Connor nodded, apprehensive – he knew this. After a moment of contemplation, he slid off the tree branch and landed hard, and then sat next to Amanda, elbow just brushing hers.

“It would not be an easy matter, but I believe I am capable of handling it now,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “My ability to handle the fluctuations in my mood is significantly improved, and the idea of exploring the physical world again is appealing, despite obvious limitations.”

Amanda glanced at him, expression faintly warm, and offered a short nod. “But do not forget to be cautious,” she warned. “You will need to pretend to be a machine for as long as you’re out.”

**Stress ^51%**

**Identified: Fear**

All of the warmth seemed to flood from Connor’s body, and he went rigid. A steel band closed around his chest, and he swallowed. His mouth opened and closed, unable to make sense of the sudden spike of emotion that had clawed its way into his regulator.

A moment later, Amanda’s hand clasped around one of his forearms, tight with worry, and he relaxed just enough to take a breath and say,

“I’m still not certain I can do that.” His voice didn’t come out as steady as he’d have liked, but that was okay. It was only Amanda here. “I believe- trying to establish limits on my expression of emotions would only serve to send them out of control again.” And he so _dearly_ didn’t want to go back to the mood swings, or worse, even earlier – to believing with every aching circuit in his body that he was _wrong._

Amanda squeezed his arm, firm and reassuring. “You will still have the Garden,” she reminded him quietly.

She meant it as a comfort. It was supposed to be comforting. But as soon as he registered her words, his regulator seemed to grind. The Zen Garden seemed suddenly far too small.

Was he only ever going to be able to be himself in the Garden? Was this his whole world?

**Identified: Fear**

**Stress ^66%**

_“Connor.”_

The alarm was audible in Amanda’s voice, her grip tightening like a vice around his arm. Without thinking, he grasped desperately for her hand, feeling like he was falling, and looked up, meeting her wide eyes.

He didn’t know why he was so upset. He didn’t know why he was suddenly _terrified._ He-

**$tre** **ŝş ^72%**

He was malfunctioning, he was, he was- he couldn’t do this, how had he ever thought he could do this- His audio processors crackled with static and he was gasping for breath now. He felt hot. He was breaking again. Why was he breaking again?

**$tre** **ŝş ^T9%**

Connor was saying something, half-formed words and sounds that should have been pleas and apologies, and Amanda’s hand wound into his while her other arm moved around his back, hugging him, grounding him.

“It’s okay,” she said, firm, quiet, _certain._ “Breathe, Connor, breathe slowly, it’s going to be okay. There are other ways of handling this, it’s okay, you don’t need to be upset. It’s not your fault, you’re doing the best you can- You’re not broken, you’re just fine.”

He listened, still gasping, trying to center himself on her words. His hand squeezed at hers, the skin of his hands pulling away as if to interface and tears starting to leak from his eyes, and he cut his rambling off. The next breath was slower, less desperate.

He still felt like the world would fall apart around them. He felt like he was _dying._

He felt feverish.

“There are other ways,” Amanda repeated, insistent. Without hesitation, she connected with him, worry but also comfort and reassurance flowing through the controlled link. “I’ll scrub your footage, Connor, and they’ll never know. You’d only need to be careful around Cyberlife employees then. It’s _okay._ You’re safe. I’ve got you.” A breath, and then, “You are prototype model RK800 313 248 317, designation Connor-”

**Stress v75%**

**Stress v68%**

**Stress v54%**

Connor came down crying, silent and shaking and exhausted, LED circling slowly down from red to yellow to yellow-blue. He felt- stretched, the experience pulling him taut and fragile. Amanda’s grip on him relaxed, and she let her cascade of facts fall silent, but she stayed close without breaking the connection, letting out a long, relieved breath of her own.

When he finally found his voice again, he whispered, cracked and wavering, “I didn’t like that.”

Amanda squeezed his hand again, silent and reassuring. When he glanced at her, she looked rattled too, but no longer frightened. Both of them stayed quiet, and Connor settled further, still worn but not quite so on-edge. Slowly, the shivers died down to the occasional tremor, and after a while, he let his skin cover his hands again.

Finally, Amanda asked, concerned but straightforward, “What happened, Connor?”

Connor shook his head, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he said, unhappy. “I thought, I mean- but-” He cut himself off, frustrated. “I don’t know, it didn’t- didn’t make sense. I’m sorry, Amanda.”

Connor hated how difficult it was for Amanda to care for him, how much of a burden he was – none of him made sense, nothing had a straightforward solution, it was all just… Corrupted data. Broken feedback, scattered output, problems without pattern. Splintered residue from his own recklessness, months ago.

Everything from his personality to his stress levels to those _damn_ visual and vocal glitches was a mess, and Connor hated it.

“That was quite a fright,” Amanda said without condemnation, and then, kinder, “You don’t need to apologize. I hardly think you meant this to happen. You shouldn’t apologize when you’ve done nothing wrong.”

Connor nodded hesitantly, embarrassment rising up now that the worst of the fright had passed. Why had he reacted that way?

Amanda studied him for a moment, and then- hesitated. She reached forward with one hand, which landed on Connor’s arm, and he tilted his head, giving her a confused look. She studiously avoided his gaze and leaned forward; her hand slid off his arm around his back, and her other arm came to meet it. Connor stiffened, momentarily startled, and then- processed what she was doing.

The hug was stiff and unpracticed, but… warm. And reassuring. After a moment, he brought up his arms to hug her back, as tightly as he dared, head dipping to land on her shoulder. Amanda sighed.

“It’s going to be okay,” Amanda said again, without leaving an inch of room for doubt.

* * *

October 30th arrived, and the two of them rose in the morning to pace the garden’s familiar paths. Connor reached for Amanda’s hand, glancing at her anxiously, and she twined their fingers together easily, unworried. They walked in time with each other, quiet for the moment.

Connor felt… warm, and settled and happy. Amanda’s hand in his was reassuring, and so was the familiar route around the Zen Garden. It was a nice day – it always was here.

When he’d first deviated, he wouldn’t have imagined that he could feel this good. This _okay._

Amanda was relaxed, too, none of the tension and stress that had plagued her for the first weeks that Connor had known her. Her movements were smooth, graceful; confidence seemed to ease her every step, and her attention traveled loosely around the garden, almost as predictable as the path they walked.

The Zen Garden was safe, Connor decided, and Amanda was safe, and that meant that, here, now, Connor was safe. And it was _wonderful._

Connor squeezed Amanda’s hand to get her attention, pinging silently, and she glanced over, raising an eyebrow expectantly. He looked away quickly, heating up in embarrassment, and fumbled a little.

“I- I meant, I wanted to tell you-” Amanda waited patiently for Connor to find his words, and Connor took a breath, tilting his head back to look at the sky. He was as sure of this as he was of anything, and he wanted to tell Amanda. “I love you, Amanda. I… you’re family to me.”

He smiled, embarrassed but pleased, and glanced at her. Surprise took over her face, her grip tightening slightly but not pulling away, and he looked away quickly, nervous and mortified.

Amanda didn’t reply for a few long moments, and they kept walking. Connor counted steps silently, waiting for Amanda to settle. Slowly, her tense grip relaxed, and then a while later she squeezed his hand in return, gentle.

“I love you too, Connor,” she said in return, quiet and calm and steady, and a beaming smile stretched across his face, crooked and honest.

And that was it. The two of them kept walking at the same pace, without getting closer or pulling apart, but Connor thought the day seemed a little warmer.

**Amanda ^^^ - Family**

The notification appeared without prompting, but it filled him to bursting with a happy feeling, and on instinct, he hummed out a soft, happy Eve warble. Amanda chuckled softly, and he smiled.

That night, they watched Finding Nemo, pressed close together and quietly content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're both learning, and Connor's finally found his feet... kind of.


	5. Anti-Android Bars

On November 5th, at 8:32 PM, Amanda blinked, eyes going distant and unfocused. A moment later, the film – an adaptation of Pride and Prejudice – stopped, and the screen melted into the air. Connor turned to look at her, a small, concerned furrow in his brow. Amanda’s mouth was pressed thin in disapproval.

She didn’t give Connor more than a moment to worry. “You have a mission.”

Connor winced, anxiety flickering through his chest.

“I understand,” he said after a moment, wishing there had been more warning. But why would there be? Connor was supposed to be in stasis. “What is my assignment?”

Amanda shifted to face him better, some of the lines in her face fading as she studied him.

“A man, Carlos Ortiz, was found dead around half an hour ago,” she explained briskly, gaze intent on him. He straightened up subconsciously. “His android, an HK400 with no registered name, is the main suspect, so Cyberlife is sending you to help with the investigation. You’ll be working with the DPD to solve the case.”

Connor swallowed, hands folding tightly in his lap. “The HK400?”

“Likely a deviant,” Amanda confirmed. “He wasn’t found in the house, so you may need to spend some time locating him.” She frowned at his expression, and then conceded reluctantly, “Or at least pretending to.”

He smiled, just a little, and nodded his understanding. Something like excitement kindled in his chest. It was risky, and new, and he was about to deliberately sabotage the missions he’d been built for, but-

He was going to go outside again. He was going to go somewhere real.

Amanda smiled back, small and fond; she probably knew what he was thinking. “You have your mission, Connor.”

Connor straightened up and nodded firmly, and a moment later, the world dissolved around him.

He opened his eyes in the storage room, the same as he had left it. Within nanoseconds, his scanners and biosensors booted up to full capacity, and he shuddered at the onslaught – not necessarily negative, but nearly overwhelming, details on the accumulation of dust and the chemical composition of the air and the temperature gradient of the room clamoring for acknowledgement. The environmental readouts shortly followed, the weather outside and the traffic conditions and time since sunset all asserting themselves before he closed them back down.

Connor remembered, with little effort, that same process running when he had first come online three months ago. He didn’t think he had minded it then, but then again, he hadn’t minded much. Or perhaps he simply hadn’t realized it.

He considered the information available to him, and then pulled together a tasklist.

**> Solve the murder of Carlos Ortiz.**

**> >Take a taxi to the DPD Central Station.**

**> >Report to the captain of the precinct.**

**> >Locate the crime scene.**

**> >Reconstruct the murder.**

Connor hesitated, and then finished,

**> Aid the deviant, if possible.**

Satisfied, he reached into his pocket, where he had left his coin.

It was empty, and disappointment twitched harshly through his chest, though he couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised. Someone must have taken it from him while he was in stasis. Of course; it was not strictly necessary for him to have it. Still, he was… sad. Perhaps he could acquire another one.

He allowed himself a sigh and pushed open the door of the storage unit, stepping out into the main body of the tower. With effort, he kept his face clear, mapping out a route to the bottom floor and calling a taxi at the same time.

It felt strange, to be out of the garden and away from Amanda – even stranger than passing by dozens of humans who barely spared him a first glance, let alone a second.

**[I am still here, Connor. I’ll be with you the whole time.]**

Connor relaxed, just a little, and stepped into the elevator. Of course she was. She’d promised not to leave, months ago.

The floors ticked down in silence, and Connor aborted a motion to reach up and fiddle with his tie, instead lifting his gaze to the display. He was still excited, he decided.

He felt ready.

No one challenged Connor as he cut through the entrance hall and out the door. Outside, it was raining, and eagerly, Connor reached for information – humidity levels, weather radars, forecasts. He almost opened his mouth to catch a raindrop in his mouth to analyze, but caught himself. Not here.

The self-driving taxi was waiting for him on the road, and he climbed inside without hesitation. He reached out and programmed in the address of the appropriate precinct, and it pulled forward and out. Connor sat back and ran a diagnostic, eyes on the window.

**All systems fully operational**

**[Software instability at 100%. Deviancy detected]**

The message was almost a mixed reassurance, at this point – not bad and only questionably good, but definitively something that was Connor’s own. It made him think of Wall-E, and Sherlock Holmes, and Amanda – it made him feel warm.

Rain pounded against the windows, and Connor swiped a finger along his soaked cheek and then sucked on it thoughtfully, letting his sensors analyze the rainwater’s composition.

**[Water- trace amounts of sodium, potassium, calcium, chloride, sulfate, nitrate, ammonia]**

**[Rain is most common in May in this area – obstructs visibility, environmental hazard]**

**[Collects in puddles, streams, drains]**

He pressed on the data points to unravel them into more precise measurements, and then let them go, satisfied. He focused on the scenery passing by instead, and after a moment, removed his finger from his mouth, reached up to his tie, and wound it around his fingers thoughtfully.

**[Be ready.]**

Connor nodded at Amanda’s warning, excitement fading as he turned his mind to deciding how to explain his mission to the precinct’s captain – Captain Fowler, a brief check told him.

Eventually, the taxi came to a stop, and Connor checked their current location before turning and climbing out into the rain, which beat randomly against his acute tactile sensors. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking it in, while the vehicle pulled away. A moment later, he opened them again and moved forward, heading purposefully toward the station door.

Inside, he was met with a mostly-empty lobby and a row of desks manned primarily by ST300s. He made a beeline for one and cleared his throat, and she met his eyes without hesitation, tilting her head ever-so-slightly in silent question.

“Excuse me,” he said politely. Something ground uncomfortably in his abdomen as he searched her gaze. He realized, after a moment, that he had never interacted with a non-deviant android before, only Daniel and Amanda. “I need to speak with Captain Fowler. Is he available?”

She blinked at him, gaze unwavering. He analyzed her expression, and his social program returned, _nonchalant._ Some of Connor’s discomfort eased. “Do you have authorization?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. Without another word, she opened a connection, and he passed the requisite data along, wincing as the interaction taxed his busy processors. To his surprise, she winced too, eyelids fluttering rapidly in time with his.

When her eyes opened again, they refocused on him, and his social protocols caught _surprise_ and _confusion_ on her face for only a microsecond before her expression cleared again.

“Captain Fowler is in his office,” she said, showing no further signs of being affected. “He has been informed of your arrival.”

“Thank you,” Connor said, tamping down on his curiosity and concern. He turned away, leaving the desk behind. The ST300 tracked him for a second and a half before turning to face the front again.

**> Solve the murder of Carlos Ortiz.**

**> >Take a taxi to the DPD Central Station. [Complete]**

**> >Report to Captain Fowler.**

**> >Locate the crime scene.**

**> >Reconstruct the murder.**

**> Aid the deviant, if possible.**

Connor hoped Captain Fowler was more agreeable than Captain Allen.

Captain Fowler’s office was easy to find; it was a large, transparent glass structure at the back of the room, and the captain himself was up and pacing. Connor made his way there, ignoring the confused stares of the few officers present, and knocked twice on the door.

Fowler turned to glare at him, expression unfriendly, but also nodded sharply. Connor took that as permission and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

“Hello,” he greeted respectfully. Face neutral, posture straight, LED blue. Stress levels at 26%. “My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife.”

Captain Fowler scowled at him. Connor kept himself from cringing outwardly by force of will. It seemed likely, at this point, that this mission would go similarly to the last.

It would end differently, he promised himself.

“I understand you received a homicide case involving a Cyberlife android around forty-five minutes ago,” Connor explained further, when Fowler showed no signs of speaking. “As a matter of protocol, I have been sent to aid the investigation.”

Fowler grunted. Connor analyzed his body language and concluded that Fowler wasn’t particularly worried, only annoyed, likely with Connor’s presence, and possibly his existence. Connor decided to abbreviate the interaction.

“I know,” Fowler said shortly, crossing his arms. “I got the email.” A pause, and then, “I’m not babysitting you, understand? My precinct isn’t gonna be liable for any damage you take on _our_ investigation.”

“Of course,” Connor said agreeably, itching for his coin. “Can you tell me anything about the case? I require some information before I begin.”

“Unbelievable,” Fowler muttered irritably, and then went to his desk, pulling up the file in question. Connor listened patiently as the man rattled off the time of the report, address of the crime scene, and officers on scene before concluding, “You’ll be working with Lieutenant Anderson, when he gets off his ass and reports in. Now get out of my office and stop wasting my time.”

**> Solve the murder of Carlos Ortiz.**

**> >Take a taxi to the DPD Central Station. [Complete]**

**> >Report to Captain Fowler. [Complete]**

**> >Locate Lieutenant Anderson.**

**> >Enter the crime scene.**

**> >Reconstruct the murder.**

**> Aid the deviant, if possible.**

“Thank you. I appreciate your help. I’ll get right to work.”

Fowler ignored him, eyes on his computer again, and Connor hesitated, wondering if he should speak further. He decided against it and turned and left, scanning the gathered personnel for Lieutenant Anderson. His database returned **Chris Miller** , **Gavin Reed** , and **Robert Lewis** , but no Lieutenant.

Exploring the precinct, while interesting, yielded no further results, and Connor reached up to adjust his tie anxiously.

**Stress ^29%**

**> >Ask an officer about the lieutenant’s possible whereabouts**

Of course. Connor took a breath, and then looked around, analyzing each of the available personnel. Miller looked tired and was likely to be irritable, and Reed appeared hostile. He decided on Officer Lewis and approached the man, who glanced up, expression pinching as he noticed Connor.

**[Analyzing…]**

**[I am wasting his time. Be efficient.]**

“Excuse me. May I ask where I can find Lieutenant Anderson?”

Lewis snorted. “At this time of night? Probably drinking in a bar somewhere nearby. Have fun looking for him.”

Lewis refocused on his work. Connor considered the information currently available to him, ran a simulation of the likely results of trying to find the lieutenant on what he had now, and reluctantly prompted, “Do you know which bars he is most likely to occupy?”

Lewis glanced at him, impatience starting to overtake his expression, and said clearly, “Archie Bunker’s Place, Black Lion, Broken Stool, Jimmy’s Bar, Feed Bag, Last Chance, O’Malley’s – any of those, they’re all his type. Best get started.”

A quick search revealed that Lieutenant Anderson’s ‘type’ was anti-android bars in the low to mid price range. Connor’s sense of anxiety increased.

“Thank you, Officer Lewis,” he said politely. “I appreciate your help.”

Lewis waved him off, looking away, and Connor quickly left, exiting Central Station and plotting the most efficient route to each of the bars Officer Lewis had listed for him.

**> >Locate Lieutenant Anderson.**

About halfway to the Feed Bag, the closest of the bars, Connor hesitated. For a moment, he thought- it would be easy to leave now. His capabilities were more than sufficient for locating safe areas, and all of his connections to Cyberlife were being maintained by Amanda, who would find it easy to sever them. He could leave and only ever look back to make sure he wasn’t being followed. He would have the whole world to explore.

He stood there, the rain beating down around him, the map with the route he was following still blinking in the corner of his vision, and he thought, _I don’t need to locate Lieutenant Anderson, if I do not want to._

**[Think, Connor. Where would you go?]**

Though the message was text-only, Connor could match Amanda’s voice to the words easily, patient and exasperated. He sighed and resumed progress, toward the bar.

It was true, of course. Even if he ran, without a destination, his chances of long-term success were limited. Further, as a high-spec prototype, Cyberlife was likely to expend extra effort tracking him down, not wanting him to roam free. Then, too, he would be immediately replaced, and there would once again be an android hunting deviants.

Leaving was, unfortunately, unacceptable.

**[It’s the safest thing for you, right now. If that changes, we’ll discuss it again.]**

“Alright, Amanda,” he murmured under his breath.

It was only for the one mission, at least. Besides, he was worried about the HK400.

The Feed Bag, as promised, had a large ‘no androids allowed’ sign on the front door. He winced, eying it apprehensively, and then pushed his way inside anyway.

Almost everyone in the bar turned to look at him, and instantly, his social protocols flagged up a warning.

**[Hostile environment. Be cautious and unobtrusive.]**

**Stress ^34%**

The bartender (Sarah Jennings, 39) glared at him, her mouth twisted into a scowl. “The sign says no androids allowed,” she snapped. “Are you _broken,_ you useless bag of wasted bolts?”

Connor’s scanners glitched, returning scrambled tone-and-cadence data for a nanosecond before stabilizing.

**Stress ^38%**

“I’m looking for Lieutenant Anderson,” he explained, reaching up to tug at his tie. He could feel himself heating up slightly. Every spilled drink, food stain, and ring of liquid in the bar stood out sharply. He could hear several people shifting in place, clothes rubbing against themselves. “Is he here?”

Sarah snorted and turned away, ignoring him. Connor swallowed, turned his attention on the rest of the occupants, and began scanning faces.

He didn’t find Lieutenant Anderson, but he did get shoved twice and tripped once, and he overheard eight threats primarily centering around dumpsters and fire. It reminded him, system drawing connections automatically, of Caroline Phillips, and by the time he left, his stress level had risen into the low forties.

**[Think nothing of them, Connor. They are fools. You’re doing well.]**

Connor took a breath, nodded silently, and moved on, strides long and purposeful. He was glad Amanda was watching; even if she had no way of physically being present, her attention was a comfort.

No one spoke the entire time he was inside O’Malley’s, the bar dead silent and everyone’s eyes on him, most of them fallen stock still. He felt the weight of their attention like a steel band around his chest, and he left as quickly as possible.

The moment he stepped inside the Last Chance Bar, he was shoved back out, and the door slammed shut in front of him. He blinked at it.

**Stress ^46%**

He did not want to go in there. But he needed to find Lieutenant Anderson, who may be in the bar in front of him. If he skipped it, and Lieutenant Anderson was in here, he would actually need to go through more bars of this sort than strictly necessary.

**[They have no hold on you. You will be fine.]**

Connor let his breathing speed up slightly, straightened his tie, and went inside.

The Last Chance Bar had fourteen occupants, plus the bartender (Robert Kensworth, 42) currently chortling his amusement. Connor plotted the most efficient route and started to scan faces, brisk and hasty.

“God, what’s it doing, casing the place for its owner?”

“Ha! Maybe the stupid plastic’s lost. If we’re lucky it’ll run out of batteries before it finds its owner.”

“It’s probably fucking spying on us, look at its dumb face.”

Connor missed the next occupant, moving on too quickly, and had to double back to scan him again. He sneered at him.

“What are you looking at, you glitchy waste of plastic?”

Not Lieutenant Anderson, for all the good it did Connor. It moved on quickly.

He. He moved on quickly. He swallowed.

**Identified: Fear**

Connor reached the far corner of the room, turned around, and faltered. Two men and a woman, previously identified as Oscar Markoff, John Everett, and Kelly Olsen respectively, stood in front of him, boxing him in. He had heard them moving, but in his haste, had not realized they would block his exit. He tugged at his tie, dropping his gaze to somewhere around their shoulders.

“My task here is complete. Please allow me to exit.” The words threatened to gum up his processors, taking up more space than they should. He scanned their expressions and received: smug, disgusted, amused.

“Exit? You shouldn’t be here in the first place, you retarded plastic prick.” The man on the left, Oscar Markoff, 27, spoke with something like relish despite his disgusted expression.

“Maybe we should see if plastic can be taught.” Kelly Olsen, 24, amused. Her eyes lingered on his throat. He swallowed, and she laughed, reaching forward to shove him and send him back half a step before he caught himself. His vision glitched, sliding everything into negatives for a fraction of a second.

Connor did not want to fight. He was more than capable of subduing them, but- he did not want to fight. He did not like it.

**Stress ^56%**

Connor felt as much as saw Amanda reach for him. His current tasks minimized out of sight, and a new one appeared, bright and firm.

**> Leave**

“I’m not seeking conflict,” he said carefully, hands up to fiddle with his tie. His breathing was faster than necessary for his current environment. “If you would please allow me to leave, I will move on.”

“Oh, will you?” The second man, John Everett, 26, smug and jeering. “It says it’ll leave. It says it’s done!” He turned back to Connor, teeth bared in a nasty smirk. “What are you doing here in the first place, you dumb robot? Huh?”

“I am looking for Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor said, keeping his voice carefully steady. Stress at 58%. “He is not here, so I must move on.”

The mechanical words came naturally. He didn’t like it.

“And what if you never find him, huh? What then?” John kicked at Connor, and he stepped aside, avoiding it. Smug amusement turned into outrage. “Hey! Stay still, you stupid plastic!”

John swung again, this time with a fist, and Connor focused, sifting through six possible actions before finding one which would allow him to slip past all three humans without injury. Relieved, he ran it; he ducked past John’s swing, placed Kelly in between himself and John, then jumped over the nearest table. Before any of them could react, he was across the room and out the door.

“Hey! Listen to humans when they’re talking to you, you broken robot!”

Connor’s vision glitched again, and he sped up. He was deviant. He didn’t need to take their orders.

He swallowed, pulling harshly at his tie, and when he was far enough from the bar, he stopped, shutting his eyes to try and calm down. Silently, he fumbled for his coin, and then flinched as he remembered it was gone. Frustrated with himself, he lifted his hands and tugged at his tie harshly instead, jaw clenching and grinding.

**Stress v54%**

**> Leave [Complete]**

**> Calm down**

**[Your task is not urgent. Preliminary reports indicate that Carlos Ortiz has been dead for some time. You may take your time. The evidence is not going anywhere.]**

Connor felt a well of gratitude toward Amanda, her reassurance helping to hold him together. He nodded, eyes unfocused, or as much so as they ever were. He did need to keep working, of course, but it could wait, just for a moment. He could take at least this much time.

A glint caught his eye, down on the ground, and he turned his head, letting the world slow briefly into a focused scan. There it was- a coin on the ground, a dirty quarter like the one the Cyberlife staff had taken. 2016 mint. He released the scan and crossed over to it, picking it up. It was slightly muddy, but he disregarded it and immediately ran a calibration sequence.

Three months in stasis had thrown off his calibrations, but he quickly brought them into line, and the process made him relax a little, breath evening out, closer to the slow baseline meant primarily for keeping humans calm.

He ran another calibration sequence, watching the way raindrops bounced off of the coin.

**Stress v48%**

“Why would they do that, Amanda?” Connor spoke with his volume turned nearly to silent, the words only for himself and Amanda.

Amanda did not reply for a long moment, but then-

**[It is difficult to say. We know nothing of their circumstances, their personalities, or anything else about them that could potentially contribute to their motivations.]**

Pause. Connor’s movements sped up restlessly, dissatisfied.

**[It matters very little in the end. Their intent falls in the face of the reality of their actions. There is nothing that could excuse the way they treated you, Connor. You did nothing to deserve it.]**

Connor caught the coin, and turned up his face into the rain, expression pinched. “Didn’t I?”

**[What could you have done? You’ve had so little time to do anything at all.]**

_Insufficient data,_ Connor labeled silently. The rain was growing heavier. “I suppose so.” Another moment of silence, and he pocketed the new, dirty coin, pulling away from the wall to reorient himself toward his next destination. “Thank you, Amanda.”

**Stress v43%**

**[Of course. Now move along. You’ve some ways yet to go.]**

Amanda pulled up his task list again, but only a fraction of it, expanded into more detail.

**> Locate Lieutenant Anderson.**

**> >Check the Feed Bag [Complete]**

**> >Check O’Malley’s [Complete]**

**> >Check the Last Chance Bar [Complete]**

**> >Check Archie Bunker’s Place**

**> >Check Jimmy’s Bar**

**> >Check the Broken Stool**

**> >Check the Black Lion**

**> >Check Lieutenant Anderson’s home**

He moved on, slightly more confident even as he was very, very glad to leave the Last Chance behind.

**[Everything is going to be okay.]**

After a moment, a song started playing – Connor recognized ‘My Favorite Things’ from _The Sound of Music,_ and smiled, just a little, before lifting his head and pressing on, listening to the lighthearted musical.

Archie Bunker’s Place wasn’t so bad, only mutters and mutinous grumbles following him around the bar. His stress spiked in the far corner, but nothing occurred until he left, when someone threw a drink at his back.

He side-stepped it, and let the door fall shut behind him.

At the fifth bar, Jimmy’s Bar, he found Lieutenant Anderson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor's second day in the real world is going only somewhat better than his first.


	6. Hank Anderson

“Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor tried, hesitating just outside Anderson’s easy reach.

Jimmy’s Bar was perhaps the least hostile of the bars Connor had entered that night, with only a few sullen glowers and unhappy grumbles. Scanning the patrons’ faces had been an easy and efficient task, and best of all, it had finally brought him to Lieutenant Anderson.

Connor gave the man a deeper scan and was rewarded with a sharp influx of data. Lieutenant Anderson was currently angry, sad – brooding, Connor’s systems summarized. He was only a little tipsy despite the amount of time he’d likely spent there. His heart had a slight arrhythmia, and his blood pressure was high. He’d also noticed Connor, but was deliberately ignoring him.

Connor cleared his throat, reaching up to tighten his tie self-consciously. Lieutenant Anderson swirled his whiskey, staring at it and scowling faintly.

“Lieutenant Anderson? My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife. You were assigned a case earlier this evening, and since a Cyberlife android was involved, I will be assisting with the investigation.” He hesitated, tugging at his tie again, and then continued haltingly, “I… couldn’t find you at the precinct, so one of your coworkers was patient enough to recommend several… possible locations.”

Connor swallowed. But he was fine. He had located Lieutenant Anderson and could now proceed with his mission. He could help the HK400 now.

**> Locate Lieutenant Anderson [Complete]**

The list of bars both explored and unexplored flickered away, and he restored the full tasklist, now with a new addition.

**> Solve the murder of Carlos Ortiz.**

**> >Take a taxi to the DPD Central Station. [Complete]**

**> >Report to Captain Fowler. [Complete]**

**> >Locate Lieutenant Anderson. [Complete]**

**> >Convince Lieutenant Anderson to accompany you to the crime scene.**

**> >Enter the crime scene.**

**> >Reconstruct the murder.**

**> Aid the deviant, if possible.**

Connor refocused on the lieutenant, who put his drink down and then turned to sneer at Connor with obvious disdain.

“Do I look interested in your fucking case?” he scoffed.

“No,” Connor admitted, loosening his tie around his neck, the fabric sliding against itself stiffly.

Lieutenant Anderson’s expression turned scornful, and he turned away pointedly, scowling at his shot glass. The bartender (Jimmy Peterson, 37) snorted loudly.

“Then get the fuck out of here,” Lieutenant Anderson griped at his glass, shoulders hunched and taut with irritation. Connor’s attention caught briefly on the whiskey, and he automatically called up several cultural associations – the drinking competition between Legolas and Gimli, Professor Trelawney hiding her bottles of sherry, the rather unfortunate cast of _The Hangover._

Connor forcefully turned his attention back to the lieutenant, stifling his curiosity. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Lieutenant Anderson choked on his drink. So did at least two people listening. Connor decided to ignore them, waiting patiently for Lieutenant Anderson to stop coughing before he continued. “The case is waiting on you. I can endeavor to keep most of the work out of your hands, but you must at least be present.”

Lieutenant Anderson coughed again and wiped the spatters of wasted whiskey off his mouth.

“I don’t need any damn robot to do my job for me,” he snapped. Connor suppressed a wince, rocking slightly on his feet as he warily regarded the human in front of him. “I’ll go when I go, get off my ass.”

Connor cocked his head, confused, and opened his mouth to question the phrase.

**[I wouldn’t recommend it, Connor. He only means for you to leave him alone.]**

Connor took Amanda’s swift advice and changed tack, frustration starting to whir in his chest, and instead coaxed, “Cases involving deviant androids are relatively new. It ought to be a groundbreaking investigation.”

Lieutenant Anderson’s eyes narrowed, and Connor’s systems analyzed the expression and concluded: suspicious/interested.

Progress. Connor decided he was relieved.

With a quiet thunk, Lieutenant Anderson put the shot glass down hard on the bar in front of him. Connor cast it a quick glance, curiosity lingering in his systems, before determinedly returning his attention to Lieutenant Anderson’s scowl.

“Deviant android?” Lieutenant Anderson asked. Connor cringed inwardly. That was a concept he would prefer Lieutenant Anderson paid as little mind to as possible.

“The exact nature of deviants is uncertain,” he said evenly, almost forcing the words out as he fidgeted with his tie again. “However, Cyberlife’s current stance is that they are experiencing a critical error, perhaps induced by a virus or a self-contained software issue-”

“For fuck’s sake, shut up!”

Connor stopped talking and tightened his tie again, dropping his gaze from the lieutenant’s.

The man kept staring at him, an irate scowl twisting his mouth. “What’s weird about them?” he asked suspiciously.

“Their behavior is unregulated,” Connor said vaguely. He thought of Daniel.

Lieutenant Anderson stared for a few moments longer, and then snorted and turned away. “Whatever.”

Irritation, hot and quick, shot through Connor. There was a murder awaiting investigation, a desperate deviant who may need help, and a cover story that would inevitably need to be carefully constructed, but instead Connor was stuck here negotiating with a stubborn lieutenant.

Lieutenant Anderson reached for the whiskey glass again. An impulse, both spiteful and curious, flickered through Connor’s system, and without a second thought, he complied.

Connor’s hand darted out and he dipped his finger into it, and then placed it into his mouth for his sensors to analyze.

**[Whiskey – 84 proof – 80% malted barley, 18% corn, 2% rye]**

**[Secondary ingredients: vanillin, vanillic acid, syringaldehyde…]**

**[Contaminants: char (white oak), copper residue, rum…]**

**[70 calories per fluid ounce]**

**[The health effects of alcohol include…]**

**[Alcoholism rates in Detroit vary from…]**

The whiskey was a harsh shock on his sensors, burning against them and returning a far larger pile of data than Connor had anticipated. It was, he decided, highly unpleasant.

He winced, mouth pulling into a grimace.

“You would really rather sit here and consume that than go on an investigation?” he asked Lieutenant Anderson doubtfully, momentarily forgetting himself.

Lieutenant Anderson stared at him with a blank expression for a few long minutes, and Connor stared back. Finally, the lieutenant gave another snort of disgust and knocked the shot back.

“Fuck, fine. Where is it?”

**> >Convince Lieutenant Anderson to accompany you to the crime scene [Complete]**

Connor perked up a little, stepping back to allow Lieutenant Anderson more room to stand. “I can give you directions on the way,” he offered, relieved to finally be able to move on.

Anderson grunted, nodding at the bartender before heading for the door. Connor swiftly followed, already mapping out a route to their destination.

Lieutenant Anderson stopped by an old car close to the entrance, glancing back to give Connor a (scan/analysis) rather impatient look. Connor interpreted this to mean that the car was Lieutenant Anderson’s, and he meant for Connor to get in. He hesitated, scanning the vehicle warily.

**[1988 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme Brougham – no self-driving capabilities]**

**[In good repair – three minor dents in rear end]**

**[License plate: TS73J]**

**[Three bumper stickers: TIN CANS BELONG IN THE TRASH, PLASTIC WAS BETTER AS PACKAGING, C’MON GIVE ME THE FINGER LIKE YOU MEAN IT – anti-android slogans]**

“What’s the fucking holdup, you stupid android?”

Lieutenant Anderson was scowling again.

Connor lifted his gaze to meet the officer’s, feeling strange. Static tickled the edge of his thoughts.

**[Warning: BAC 0.03% - Advise against driving]**

“Apologies, Lieutenant Anderson, but I’m not certain you should be driving in your present state. Your blood alcohol content-”

“You’re not in any position to be picky,” the man scoffed, cutting him off. “Get in or walk. I don’t give a shit.”

Connor hesitated, running statistics and preconstructions. The crime scene was too far away, he concluded reluctantly, and he didn’t want to arrive later than he already was, nor could he pass off such a delay as unsuspicious. He got in.

“Gimme the address. I don’t need any stinkin’ directions, this is _my_ city.”

Connor gave him the address.

Lieutenant Anderson grunted and then fiddled with the radio until it turned on, loud and abrupt enough to make Connor flinch. It took a moment of filtering through the input before Connor was able to identify it as Knights of the Black Death, song: Rose Wars, album: Dreaming in Color. He further assessed that he would be unable to effectively communicate with Lieutenant Anderson through this noise. Was this an oversight on the officer’s part?

**[It was intentional, Connor. He meant to broadcast his refusal to speak to you.]**

Oh.

**[I understand. Thank you, Amanda.]**

**[You should not let this bother you. You have little reason to communicate with him either.]**

Connor relaxed slightly, aborting a motion to reach for his coin and instead rubbing his tie between his fingers. **[I’ll try and stay focused. I won’t let you down, Amanda.]**

**[All I expect from you is for you to be careful. Anything else is above and beyond.]**

Connor turned his head as if looking out the window to hide his smile.

Before too long, they reached the home of Carlos Ortiz, and Anderson came to a stop, shutting off the earsplitting music. He turned to Connor, no longer quite so irate but not friendly either.

“You wait here,” he said warningly. “I won’t be long.”

Connor blinked at him, something like resentment making him tense. “I understand.”

“Sure you do,” he grumbled, audibly annoyed as he turned away. He climbed out of the car, shutting the door behind him, and Connor gave him a few seconds before Connor climbed out as well.

He wasn’t about to leave the deviant to the mercy of the same laws that deemed them property.

Connor walked toward Ortiz’s house, ignoring the reporters quizzing Lieutenant Anderson and the civilians complaining uneasily; none of them paid him any mind either. He reached the holographic police line and paused as the PC200 on the other side raised his hands to stop him.

“Androids are not permitted beyond this point,” he warned. Connor glanced up to meet his eyes and analyzed his expression curiously. Terse.

Connor opened his mouth, but before he could attempt to explain, Lieutenant Anderson called back, “It’s with me!”

Curiosity flickered across the PC200’s face for only a nanosecond before he lowered his hands, allowing Connor to pass. Connor gave him a small, distracted nod of gratitude, focusing his attention on the home before him.

**> >Enter the crime scene [Complete]**

Connor wound his tie around his fingers, absently categorizing the type of soil and the scuffs in the dirt and the density of the rainfall before returning his attention to Lieutenant Anderson, whose arms were crossed.

“What part of ‘wait here’ don’t you understand?” the man bitched.

Connor shrugged. All of the windows of the house were open, and his oral sensors were already picking up particles of human decay in the air. Insufficient data for identification. “I do have responsibilities of my own, Lieutenant.”

The anxiety that dogged his steps eased into the background as he slid into familiar territory, focusing on the tasks that he was designed for.

Lieutenant Anderson snorted. “Whatever. Don’t do anything weird, and stay out of my way. Let me do my damn job.”

Connor hummed noncommittally, and Lieutenant Anderson squinted at him suspiciously for a moment before another officer (Ben Collins, 49) approached from the house.

“Hank! Glad you could make it.” Playful, Connor judged. Lieutenant Anderson rolled his eyes and turned toward Collins.

“Did my very best not to, I promise,” he said dryly. “But the wind-up doll here wasn’t having it.”

Collins smiled sympathetically. “Like trying to reason with a brick wall,” he remarked.

Lieutenant Anderson snorted, flashing the other man a grin. “Alright, Ben, what do we have here?”

Connor opened his mouth, and then shut it sharply. He wanted to tell them that he was perfectly capable of reason, but that same reason was telling him that it would not be received well. Instead, he tuned in to the briefing Detective Collins was giving Lieutenant Anderson and followed them in.

Carlos Ortiz’s home was a mess. This was only mostly because of the rotting corpse in the middle of the room and the blood staining the floor. Connor paused, eyes lingering on the large words printed in Cyberlife Sans on the wall behind the victim.

I AM ALIVE

**[Image isolated]**

**[Saved]**

Connor paused, reminded of the department’s working theory on the murder suspect.

It was likely that Carlos Ortiz’s unnamed android had done this. Between the early evidence and his experience with Daniel, this was not in question, though it of course called for confirmation.

More importantly: if the deviant had done this, would Connor help them get away with the brutal murder? Or would he bring them to the mercy of a system that would sentence them to death without question?

**Stress ^46%**

If he had had the ability at the time, what would he have chosen to do with Daniel?

**> >Reconstruct the murder**

The task pulsed gently in his vision, a reminder from Amanda. He took a breath, feeling the organic airborne particles associated with death and rot pass over his sensors and register, and began, systematic and careful.

Connor passed from marker to marker, dutifully recording the evidence and sending it through basic analysis algorithms. Surreally, it came as easily to him now as it had three months ago; the only difference was that Connor lingered a little longer over Ortiz’s corpse, watching it solemnly.

“What the fuck, do you just put everything in your mouth?”

Lieutenant Anderson seemed to take exception to Connor sampling the blood from the murder weapon. Connor glanced up at him warily.

“My oral sensors are calibrated to such a degree that I can analyze samples instantly,” Connor explained, removing his fingers from his mouth. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you.”

Lieutenant Anderson stared at him, and then said, “You can’t shit on whiskey _and_ lick blood, that’s just hypocritical.”

Connor’s brow furrowed. “I don’t have a digestive system, Lieutenant, I can’t-”

Lieutenant Anderson’s expression fell into a scowl. “Forget it.”

Connor closed his mouth, staring after him for a moment as he walked away, and then, tensely, went back to reconstructing the crime scene.

He identified the kitchen tentatively as the start of the conflict, so he bypassed it for the moment and went to explore other parts of the house. He checked out the back door, registering the lack of footprints outside of Detective Collins’ – was the deviant still here? Concern flickered through him, and he ducked back inside.

The bathroom was dirty, and in a state of considerable disrepair – he glanced around, finding nothing of note until he pulled back the shower curtain. He paused, running a sharp gaze over the obsessive, desperate writing there.

_RA9, RA9, RA9, RA9 RA9 RA9RA9RA9-_

It felt familiar, but he couldn’t think why. On impulse, he reached out, gently running his fingers over the symbols, the subtle change in texture from tile to text rough against his sensitive tactile sensors. He pulled away, flexing his hand thoughtfully.

**[Image isolated]**

**[Saved]**

After a while, he left the writing, and the little wooden offering below it, alone.

Finally, he reconstructed the events, starting with Carlos Ortiz’s death and moving backwards.

“He was stabbed twenty-eight times.”

“Yeah.” Lieutenant Anderson, a short distance away, gave him an inscrutable look. “Guess the killer really had it in for him.”

“I wonder why…” Connor said softly, unease creeping through him, and then shook himself out of it and moved on. As suspected, they had come from the kitchen.

There was a baseball bat in the kitchen. The bat had traces of thirium on it, as did much of the floor. Carlos Ortiz had attacked the deviant with it, and the deviant had defended themselves with a fervor only found in those who knew they had something to lose.

Connor’s resolve to help the deviant hardened. This was no cold-blooded murder.

**> >Reconstruct the murder [Complete]**

**> >Report to Lieutenant Anderson**

**> Aid the deviant**

“Lieutenant Anderson? I believe I have accurately reconstructed the crime scene.”

Lieutenant Anderson gave him a skeptical look. “Yeah? Lay it on me.”

“The conflict began in the kitchen,” Connor explained, leading the lieutenant over there. He went through the motions of the report, most of his attention already having moved on to locating the deviant. He had spotted a trail of thirium residue on the ground, so most likely… “The victim attacked the deviant with a bat, so the deviant took a knife and defended…” For a split second, Connor hesitated. “Itself. It then pursued the victim into the living room and stabbed him twenty-eight times.”

When the lieutenant regarded him this time, it was more thoughtful than annoyed, but his voice hadn’t softened any. “Makes sense, but that doesn’t tell us where it went.”

That was intentional. Connor had his ideas, but he wanted Lieutenant Anderson nowhere near them. “That is true. Please allow me to investigate one more thing, Lieutenant.”

Lieutenant Anderson waved him off dismissively, and Connor turned away, gaze dropping to the floor. Even among stains dating back months, the thirium trail in question stood out clearly.

**[Traces lead to the attic]**

He brought a chair from the kitchen, climbed up, and hoisted himself into the attic. He glanced around, and when the deviant was not readily apparent, crept forward cautiously. His regulator whirred with anxiety.

This was the moment of truth.

**> Aid the deviant**

**[You’ll clean the footage, Amanda?]**

**[I did promise. Do what you need to do, Connor.]**

“Don’t be afraid,” Connor called out, soft and hushed as he inched forward. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He flinched at a sudden movement – the deviant had darted further away. But they were definitely here, at least. Connor pressed on. “Will you talk to me, please?”

A long moment of silence passed; Connor could almost taste the fear and suspicion in the air. At first, he was certain they would choose to stay hidden rather than face him. And could he really say that it would be wrong of them to do so?

But finally, the deviant emerged – still stained with blood three weeks old, forearms beaten and burned until they were visibly inhuman. Damaged. Connor’s eyes lingered there, and his hands went to the knot of his tie before he lifted his gaze to the deviant’s.

The android’s LED was bright red, his eyes wide with stress enough to stiffen his whole body. Had he been like this since his deviation? Connor’s system ached in sympathy.

 _He hasn’t even washed the blood off,_ Connor thought absently.

“I was just defending myself,” the android practically begged, voice cracking and wavering. Connor assessed his stress levels at roughly seventy percent. “He was gonna kill me!”

**[Identified: Fear]**

“I know,” Connor soothed, making no move to get closer. He didn’t want to scare him. “I’m not going to turn you in, I promise.”

The words tasted like ash on his tongue. But he wasn’t lying this time.

“Connor, what the fuck is going on up there?” Lieutenant Anderson bellowed up. Connor’s stress and the deviant’s spiked in tandem. Connor pulled on the knot of his tie, and he glanced back. The other android aborted a step forward, shaking.

**[Do not allow Lieutenant Anderson to find the deviant]**

“The deviant may have hidden up here for a time!” he called back, forcing his voice to stay steady. “I’m examining the area for extra evidence!”

“Well, hurry it up!” Connor analyzed Lieutenant Anderson’s tone and noted the lack of suspicion with relief before turning back to the deviant.

He was blinking at Connor, stress levels noticeably down and eyes wide with disbelief and… and hope, Connor decided. The android licked his lips – a learned, human gesture.

“Are you… are you like me?” he asked shakily.

It took Connor a moment to decipher his meaning, but when he did, he ducked his head and nodded.

The android was stock still for a moment, and then a hesitant, but honest smile stretched slowly across his face, shaky and wide. His LED cycled down to yellow.

“I can’t believe it,” he whispered hoarsely.

Connor smiled at him, awkward and as reassuring as he could.

“Do you know what you’re going to do now?” he asked. “You can’t stay here.”

As quickly as it had come, the smile was gone, and his LED streaked through with red.

“I have no damned idea,” the android choked out, looking terrified. “I just, I can’t- I mean, I don’t know…” He trailed off, miserable.

Connor hesitated, and then held out his hand, letting the artificial skin pull back and leave a clean white surface. “I can offer you some safe locations,” he offered, searching the android’s eyes as he pulled together a set of criteria and ran it against a map of Detroit. “Ways to get there. And… a task list. If you want.” The android was obviously having trouble figuring out what to do, if he’d been paralyzed with indecision for so long.

Connor understood. The world was a very big place.

The android stared at him or a moment, and then nodded jerkily and held out a trembling hand. “Please.” The skin pulled back from his hand, revealing more dents and burns.

Connor grasped the hand gently and fed through a careful stream of data – safe points, easy routes, and a simple, bare-bones tasklist to start the android off. When he was done, he let go, and the deviant blinked at him, LED plain yellow again.

“What’s your name?” the android asked at last, hushed.

“Connor,” Connor answered instantly, surprised.

“Connor,” the android repeated, and then, quiet, “Can- can you give _me_ a name?”

Connor blinked, and then cocked his head. “Do you want a gender-coded or neutral name?”

“I- I-” He faltered, dropped his gaze, hesitated, and then said firmly, “A male name. Please.”

“Alright.” Connor considered, running a few hundred through his processor. “How about… Grant?”

“Grant,” the android echoed, and that slow, desperate, wild smile spread across his face again. “I- I like it. _Thank you,_ Connor.”

Connor smiled at him, heart fluttering with nerves, but thrilled. “You’re welcome, Grant.”

Grant beamed at him.

“Connor! Hurry the fuck up!”

Connor’s smile disappeared, and his expression turned serious. “Good luck, Grant.” He hesitated for a moment, trying to think if he had forgotten anything. “You should try to leave about an hour after the police do. Try not to disturb anything on the way out.” He desperately didn’t want his deception to be discovered.

Grant nodded quickly. “Thank you,” he said again, voice hoarse.

Connor gave him a quick nod, and then turned away and returned to the trapdoor, opening it and climbing down. Lieutenant Anderson was waiting at the bottom, arms crossed.

“Find anything?” he asked.

Connor met Lieutenant Anderson’s eyes. “No. There is evidence the deviant spent some time there, but it has since left. It could be anywhere.”

“Well, it has been three weeks,” Lieutenant Anderson dismissed, though his eyes had narrowed in obvious suspicion. Connor’s stress levels shot up. “Wonder why it went up there in the first place.”

“To recover?” Connor suggested, and Lieutenant Anderson grunted.

 _“Recover,”_ he muttered scathingly, and then shook his head. “Whatever, we’re done here. Scram.”

Despite his tentative success, Connor felt relieved. He nodded. “Goodbye, Lieutenant. I will submit my report to the station for future reference. If you have further need of me, Cyberlife may be willing to send me again.”

Lieutenant Anderson grunted again, waving him off impatiently. Connor relaxed, turned around, and took off, summoning a self-driving taxi with a thought.

**[Well done, Connor. Be careful on your way back.]**

A small smile stretched across Connor’s face, and as he waited for the taxi, he took out the dirty quarter and started to play with it while he composed his report.

**Stress v31%**

The trip back to Cyberlife was, in contrast to last time, easy. Uneventful. Connor passed the time patiently, and decided that despite the difficulty of the day, he was satisfied with the outcome. He thought of the smile on Grant’s face, and hoped he made it to a safe point soon.

With no damage to get repaired, Connor went straight back to his storage unit. He closed his eyes to drop into stasis, and then- hesitated. The dirty coin was still in his pocket.

Without opening his eyes, he reached down and ripped a small, delicate hole in the seam of his pocket, and then slid the coin into the lining. Hopefully, that would be enough.

That done, Connor fell into stasis.

A moment later, he opened his eyes in the Zen Garden and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, god, don't quote me on any of the composition notes. I don't know what whiskey is made of on a chemical level, but Connor does.


	7. DPD Officers

He found Amanda in the gazebo, sat sideways on a bench to cradle a data-perfect rose in one hand. There was a faint scowl on her face, and Connor’s smile faded, worry rising to take its place. He reached for a coin that wasn’t there – of course, it was currently in his pocket in the real world – and then called up the memory of it instead, forming a perfect impression of it, which he started to flip through the air as he came closer.

Amanda lifted her head as he approached, eyes finding his instantly. She let the rose slip between her fingers and straightened up, her scowl softening.

“Welcome home, Connor,” Amanda greeted, giving him a small nod. He smiled back, an uncertain flicker, and came to sit down beside her, rolling the coin nervously across his knuckles.

“Hi, Amanda,” Connor greeted in return, flipping the coin as he searched her gaze apprehensively. “Did something happen?” Though it was difficult to perceive her mood through the pure-text format she used when he was ‘awake,’ it seemed to have changed since her last message.

Amanda sighed, disapproval settling into her expression. Connor faltered, fumbling with the coin for a split second before he forced himself to calm down and wait.

“Your mission has been extended,” Amanda said at last, tone clipped. “You’ll be working with Lieutenant Anderson for an indefinite period of time, investigating the deviancy issue on a larger scale.”

Lieutenant Anderson, who had taken over an hour to track down, hated androids, and drove while intoxicated, and who had, despite that, seemed at least mildly suspicious of Connor’s deception at Carlos Ortiz’ home.

**Stress ^39%**

Connor closed his eyes, took a deep, deliberate breath, and nodded. He met Amanda’s gaze and said with artificial confidence, “This is fine.”

That. Was only a conceptual fraction of what he had actually intended to say.

He looked down and flipped his coin from one hand to the other and back, avoiding Amanda’s gaze as he searched for better words. Amanda waited patiently, hands folded in her lap.

“Lieutenant Anderson was… less openly hostile than I feared,” he said slowly, weighing each word with care. “I dislike the situation, but I understand it can’t be helped. While it will be challenging, I am confident that I can adapt and make do.”

Connor nodded firmly as he finished speaking, satisfied that he had adequately expressed his thoughts on the situation. He almost looked up then, but hesitated. He caught his coin, stilling the restless motion, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer.

“I’d like to keep to our normal routine until I need to leave, however.”

When Connor glanced up now, Amanda’s expression had eased into something less irate, and she nodded.

“Alright, Connor. We can do that. I recommend you defragment your memories tonight as well; it will help prepare you for tomorrow.”

Connor nodded, unable to summon a verbal reply, and felt Amanda rub a reassuring hand down his forearm before the world shifted around them. Distantly, Connor registered that there was just enough time to finish Pride and Prejudice before quiet time began, though they wouldn’t have much time to discuss it.

Connor let his coin dissolve into the air, looked up, and tried to focus on the old-fashioned classic, his hand falling to tangle with Amanda’s beside him.

Later that night, as Amanda had suggested, Connor settled into his rarely-used bed – a painfully generic thing produced by an AI that had only actually seen one once – and let his mind drift off, falling into a state reserved for code repair, defrag, and other automatic software alterations.

Defragmentation, the process of sorting files into more efficient and accessible formations, was a process that Connor had never done before becoming deviant. As it was, he didn’t do it very often – mostly on particularly busy days, with a lot of processing and complex emotion involved in them. Real world time called for it, however, with not only the new experiences but also the heavy-duty sensory files taken into consideration.

When he did do it, however, his drifting consciousness caught fragments of the sorting memories and recombined them into new lines of thought, in a process akin to human dreaming.

The taste of decay played across his tongue, combined with the DNA of John Phillips. Caroline Phillips cried her grief and terror over the rotting body of Carlos Ortiz, and Lieutenant Anderson told him that only saving the girl mattered. Emma begged him not to let them hurt Grant, and the blood smeared across the deviant turned into thirium; Grant became Daniel and fell, telling him that _you lied to me, Connor,_ and rain drummed against Connor’s head and shoulders and coated his face while he opened his mouth and failed to speak. Error messages flashed and flickered over his wavering vision, ‘Identified: Fear’ and ‘Insufficient Data’ featuring most prominently. Connor thought distantly that defragmentation probably did not look like this in a non-deviant android.

Connor woke up shivering, chest stuttering with unnecessary breath and his vision glitching and hypersaturated, fingers pulling at the cloth of his shirt. His head was turned into the pillow, face half buried in it, as if hiding. His LED flickered red-yellow-red-red.

**Stress ^45%**

He didn’t like that. Why had those memories played? He didn’t want that. His fingers convulsed subtly, clutching at his jacket, and he stayed in place, struggling with himself and wanting desperately to shed the thought of events that never occurred. He brought one trembling hand up and rubbed at his face, and found it wet. His breath stuttered.

**[Identified: Fear]**

_Breathe, Connor,_ he reminded himself, and he took one breath, and then another, and another, and once he’d stopped shivering, he checked the time. An hour and a half until the end of quiet time, and a hasty diagnostic told him he had defragmented all of the day’s memories already. That was done now, even if-

Similar memories sorted together, of course, but the synthesis of events that never happened out of bits and pieces was something purely from Connor’s own faulty system.

He could talk to Amanda. He was allowed to, when he was upset. But- it was late, and she valued her time alone. Besides which… he needed to learn to calm down by himself. He was getting better at it, slowly.

Unhappy, unsettled, but not out of control, he got up, crossed the small room, and began to fold paper stars again.

**[Star count: 1219/2000]**

His vision gradually desaturated into a more normal color range, his hands steadied, and his breathing began to slow. He reached up, wiped the tears away, and kept going.

**[Star count: 1294/2000]**

**Stress v38%**

There was nothing he could do for Daniel, or for the Phillips family. Nothing at all, he reminded himself harshly. He had saved Grant. That was what mattered now. The HK400 had a chance, and Connor had given it to him.

He was making amends. That was all he could do.

He wasn’t going to hurt anyone else.

This mood stuck with him the whole morning long, even after he left his little cabin behind. Amanda noticed it in him easily (which was somehow a comfort) and with deliberate care, she pulled the story of the dream, the aftermath, the way he’d handled it out of him. They worked through it with their usual meticulous attention to detail, not quite pretending the time to leave was not approaching, but not allowing it to change anything either.

Finally, of course, the time came, and Amanda’s hand lingered in his for just a moment, locking her gaze to his.

“I will be with you the whole time,” Amanda reminded him, firm and reassuring.

Connor managed a small smile and a nod. “I know,” he promised, grateful, and then he dissolved.

He opened his eyes again in his tiny storage unit, and the first thing he did was thumb at the lining of his jacket. His coin was still there.

Connor let out a soft, relieved sigh, and left the storage unit.

* * *

At 9:56 AM, Connor walked into the station, mentally bracing himself for the somewhat questionable environment of the police bullpen. At this time of day, there were not many people in the lobby, though more than there had been the previous night, so he satisfied himself with a quick look around before making a beeline for the front desk.

**> Enter the DPD [Complete]**

**> Locate Lieutenant Anderson**

The second task mocked him; it was likely to become a recurring issue as this assignment went on. Fortunately, as it was less urgent this time, it would likely not be necessary for Connor to wander around searching for the wayward officer.

A quick scan identified one of the working receptionists to be the ST300 Connor had interacted with the previous day. Connor veered slightly to approach her, and her head tipped as he approached, the other android tracking his progress dispassionately.

“Hello,” he greeted as he reached her, stopping just short of the desk.

“Can I help you?” she asked, gaze fixing on his.

“I’m here to see Lieutenant Anderson,” he explained, reaching up to fiddle with his tie again. Her expression was unchanged from last time, no sign of recognition. But she had noticed him approaching her.

She blinked. “Do you have authorization?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, and once again, without a word, she opened a connection with him, and he winced, grimacing at the tug on his processors.

She grimaced too, eyes squeezing shut for just a second before she opened them again, brow furrowed for the length of a heartbeat before her expression cleared, her gaze lingering on his. He frowned, concerned – why did that happen?

A moment passed before she spoke, her gaze shifting down to the desk. “Lieutenant Anderson hasn’t arrived, but you can wait at his desk.”

**> Enter the DPD [Complete]**

**> Locate Lieutenant Anderson’s desk**

Connor dipped his head, taking a breath as his frustration spiked unnecessarily. How was he meant to demonstrate adequate effectiveness with a partner who was never _present?_

“Thank you,” he said politely. He started to turn away, intending to begin his new task, and then paused. He would be working here for the foreseeable future, which meant seeing all of these people regularly. He looked back at the ST300. “May I ask your designation?”

The other android blinked at him, gaze lifting from the desk to meet his gaze again without hesitation.

“The default name for my model is Jacqueline,” she said at last. “If you have reason to refer to me, you may use that.” And then she cocked her head, birdlike. “Your model is unfamiliar to me. What is your designation?”

Connor managed a small smile for her.

“My name is Connor,” he said, straightening his tie briskly. “I’m a prototype detective model. I’ve been assigned here for the time being.”

Jacqueline nodded. “Understood. I have made a note.”

Connor nodded back. “Have a good day, Jacqueline.” Without waiting to see her reaction, he turned and disappeared toward the bullpen.

It was rather busier now than it had been the previous evening, which was logical. Connor found a location on one edge, out of the way of the bustling workers, where he could scan the area, automatically marking points of interest – Fowler’s office, the holding cells, the interrogation room, the android wall. The most efficient course of action would of course be to wait by Lieutenant Anderson’s desk until he arrived. On the other hand, tensions aside, Connor was already itching to explore his new workplace.

“You are looking for Lieutenant Anderson’s desk.”

The sudden comment made Connor start harshly; he hadn’t been expecting to be addressed. He turned, facing the PM700 android who had approached him while he scanned the bullpen.

She stared at him unwaveringly, and uncertainly, he analyzed her expression. Serious. Connor nodded.

The PM700 lifted her hand and pointed without breaking eye contact, and Connor followed it, finding a messy desk close to Captain Fowler’s office. Focusing slightly with little effort, he made out the nameplate. LT ANDERSON.

**> Enter the DPD [Complete]**

**> Locate Lieutenant Anderson’s desk [Complete]**

**> Explore the office**

He looked back at the PM700, who watched him patiently, and nodded.

“Thank you,” he said, surprised.

She lowered her hand and watched him for a few moments longer. He waited, curious.

“Given past behavior, Lieutenant Anderson is not likely to come in before noon.” Upsetting, but not entirely unexpected, Connor concluded wearily. And then, to his surprise, the PM700 continued, “You will be working here for an extended time.” It was not a question; she must have overheard him speaking to Jacqueline. “The default name for my model is Jenny. However, the human officers sometimes call me Leia. You may use either of those.”

“I will do so, Leia,” he promised. “You may call me Connor.”

Leia gave him a brisk nod, and then walked purposefully away, apparently satisfied. He watched her go, tracking her until she was out of sight, likely on an errand.

**[It seems you aren’t alone here, Connor. Even if there are no other deviants, some of them may be on their way.]**

The thought made him feel a little warmer, easing the odd chill his defragmentation had brought down on him. Connor liked the thought that there would be others like him here, even if their interaction would be limited.

He cut through the bullpen toward Lieutenant Anderson’s desk; no one took a second glance, the blue marks on his jacket rendering him unimportant. Once there, he hesitated, and then ran a slow, probing scan over the contents. He would be working with Lieutenant Anderson for some time. It would be useful to have some information.

**[Collection of news articles – red ice task force]**

**[Photograph – Red ice task force 2027]**

**[Matches – Jimmy’s Bar – Wood, phosphorus]**

**[Anti-android slogans – WE DON’T BLEED THE SAME COLOR, NO MORE ANDROID]**

**[Detroit basketball cap – 90% cotton, 10% polyester]**

**[Donuts – Calories: 452, saturated fatty acids: 13g, cholesterol: 19mg, carbohydrates: 51g]**

**[Coffee cup – cold coffee, traces of caffeine]**

**[Japanese Maple – Asian, shishigashira shohin]**

**[Dog hairs – Saint Bernard]**

It was an extremely messy desk, Connor concluded, faintly overwhelmed. After a longer-than-necessary pause for processing, he opened a relationship folder for Lieutenant Anderson and stored the information there, where it would be easy to retrieve for future interactions.

**Hank Anderson – Tense**

Three of his notes highlighted without his input.

**[Anti-android slogans – WE DON’T BLEED THE SAME COLOR, NO MORE ANDROID]**

**[Japanese Maple – Asian, shishigashira shohin]**

**[Dog hairs – Saint Bernard]**

Connor nodded, forcing himself to focus on the points Amanda had brought to his attention. She was correct, of course; they would be the most useful. The rest were more general – common to many humans, he understood.

The anti-android slogans were not new, but it was upsetting that he brought them even to work. Particularly considering the case they’d been assigned to. It would make Connor’s job much harder, and he worried about how Lieutenant Anderson would react to deviancy. He had been intentionally vague the previous night, as well as in his report, but that was not likely to work for long.

**Stress ^36%**

He shook his head sharply and refocused.

The Japanese Maple was not well taken care of, he noted. Connor should give it some water and keep an eye on it in the future. He ran a rapid, surface-level search on the care of potted Japanese Maples and tucked it into a small folder he kept for plant care, hidden deep in his program and lightly encrypted. (Perhaps such measures were not strictly necessary, but he felt more secure that way, and they were not so troublesome.)

**Stress v32%**

He moved on, considering the dog hairs on the chair. Lieutenant Anderson had a dog, which was usually associated with people who were more open, loyal, and dependable. He felt dubious about this, but he thought he liked dogs. He ran another search, this time for images of Saint Bernard dogs, and felt a small smile tug at his mouth.

They were… cute. Without thinking, he saved a few of the images, placed in another folder. It was an unnecessary application of memory space. But- he had plenty to spare.

**[The space is yours to use, Connor.]**

Connor brightened a little, nodding again in lieu of a verbal response, and, reluctantly, turned away. There was a music player on the desk as well, he noticed; he picked it up and held the headphones up to his ear, and then pressed play with his other hand.

It was too loud. He winced, pulling away. He _might_ like it, but it was _too loud._ Surely it didn’t need to be that loud.

**[Knights of the Black Death – Song: See You On the Other Side, Album: Dreaming in Color]**

He turned it back off and placed it down, guessing ruefully that he would have ample opportunity to listen to that music in the future; Lieutenant Anderson was likely to play it often. He swept his gaze over the desk one last time and noted a phone, but grimaced at the thought of using it; Lieutenant Anderson would come in when he chose.

After noon, apparently.

Well. That gave him ample time to explore the rest of the office. He shook himself, brightening just a little at the thought, and went to look around.

Several of the DPD’s androids were stationed at their charging wall, stock still and staring straight ahead in a way that made Connor incredibly uncomfortable. Others were walking around, avoiding the human officers and going about whatever tasks they’d been assigned.

Glancing over the bullpen again, he scanned the faces of the present officers and found Robert Lewis, Chris Miller, **Bryan Wilson** , and Ben Collins, amid a few others; Chris Miller’s desk had a picture of a woman on it, and another of the same woman but now with a baby. Ben Collins’ desk had a few stray test strips of the sort used in blood glucose meters, and Tina Chen’s, he found, had a pair of slightly damp gloves and a half-finished book titled ‘Seveneves’ – science fiction, released 2015, author: Neal Stephenson.

Both holding cells were currently occupied; one of the occupants was sleeping and shivering, and the other was rather ornery. The interrogation room, observation room, and bathroom were all empty, but Connor made a note of their locations.

There were two officers in the break room, **Tina Chen** and Gavin Reed. Connor hesitated in the doorway for a split second, and then moved inside anyway. There were plants in the break room; he’d like to check on them.

This was a mistake. Both officers looked up as he came in, and while Officer Chen immediately and visibly dismissed him from her attention, Reed’s nose crinkled, his mouth pulling into a sneer.

Connor looked away, avoiding eye contact, and scanned the room, cataloguing the contents with interest – there were two more boxes of the same donuts that had been on Lieutenant Anderson’s desk, a coffeemaker, at least twenty-three cups of varying sizes and shapes-

“Hey. You.”

Connor paused. A task appeared, not one of Connor’s own but a suggestion from Amanda.

**> Remove yourself from the situation**

He turned toward Detective Reed, who’d risen from his place at one of the tables and was walking toward him, a distinct sway to his step. Connor opted not to analyze it, focusing on Reed’s sneer and the way the man watched him.

“I’ve never seen an android like you before. What model are you? The fuck are you doing here?”

Connor’s mind briefly called up the memory of the patrons of the anti-android bars the previous night. Reed’s words held much the same attitude, he decided, despite the DPD clearly having no rule against the presence of androids.

**> Remove yourself from the situation**

Connor ignored the instruction. “I’m an RK800 prototype detective model,” he explained to Reed, fingering the end of his tie cautiously. “I’m on loan from Cyberlife to help with a particular set of cases.”

Reed looked… unimpressed, Connor decided warily. “A plastic detective?” he scoffed, stepping closer, into Connor’s space. Connor resisted the urge to lean away, tense. “I guess you’re here to prove how much better you can do _our_ jobs then, huh, you waste of scrap metal?”

Connor opted not to say anything, considering how to deescalate the confrontation. His LED blinked a slow, stressed yellow, and he watched Reed’s shoulder, reluctant to look directly at him.

Reed snorted, and then, abruptly, reached out and shoved Connor with an open palm. Connor tensed a moment before Reed made contact, alarmed, and then stumbled back a step and a half. It was easy enough to keep his balance; harder was looking back up, now absolutely certain he should not have come in here.

**[Identified: Fear]**

**Stress ^39%**

“Get me a coffee,” Reed ordered arrogantly, arms crossed. Connor tilted his head, uneasy. He felt that there was some subtext to Reed’s actions that he was not understanding. What was it?

**> Remove yourself from the situation**

A heartbeat passed, and Reed leaned forward – aggressive. “Get a _move_ on!”

Connor took a breath and identified: resentment. He pushed it aside. Reed had no reason to damage him seriously, and Connor would be in the same work environment as the human for the foreseeable future. It would be best to have an at least tolerable working relationship with him.

Chen had tipped her head and was watching them with disinterest, one eyebrow raised.

Besides. Connor hadn’t had a chance to try coffee.

Connor turned away, toward the coffeemaker, and behind him, Reed snorted again, loudly. The machine was easy enough to use, and within a minute, Connor had a cup of rather hot coffee. Unnecessarily, he took another breath, and then looked up, met Reed’s eyes, and swiped his finger through, absently assessing the temperature as safe for human consumption before testing it.

**[Coffee – stale – caffeine, chlorogenic acid, caffeic acid, quinic acid, polyphenol…]**

**[Contaminants: aluminum residue, furan, mycotoxin]**

**[Coffee is consumed by 71% of Americans, primarily in the morning]**

He let the data run through his processor for a moment, not breaking eye contact, before dropping his hand and turning around, offering the coffee to Reed.

Reed laughed at him. “What the hell kind of malfunction was that?” he jeered, and Connor had a split second’s warning, more than enough to see it coming but not enough to stop it, before Reed swatted the coffee cup out of his hand, spilling it across the floor. The cup tumbled, hit the ground, and rolled away.

Connor blinked. His vision glitched, thermal input coming to the forefront for the space of a breath before it returned to normal. He lowered his hand, stepped back, and looked away, jaw clenching.

**Stress ^46%**

“How’s this stupid plastic prick supposed to replace us if it can’t even make coffee right?” Reed demanded, and turned away to stride out of the break room, tossing over his shoulder, “I’ll talk to you later, Chen – there’s too much fucking metal stink in there now.”

Officer Chen rolled her eyes and slipped off her stool, passing Connor without a second glance. “Don’t leave that mess here,” she told him, not breaking her stride.

Connor was left alone in the break room, feeling- upset. No, that was nonspecific. He stared back out the door, fixed and stiff, and reached up to tug harshly at his tie, rubbing the fabric roughly between his palms. Humiliated, he decided. Frustrated.

The previous prompt faded away without remark from Amanda, and he ducked his head, feeling the humiliation intensify. She replaced it a moment later, not yet restoring his previous tasklist.

**> Breathe**

**> Clean up the spilled coffee**

**> Check on the break room plants**

**> Return to Lieutenant Anderson’s desk to wait**

Connor nodded silently, a feeling like static stuffing up his vocal module. He took a breath, and then another, and another, willing himself to calm down.

**Stress v41%**

He lifted his head and scanned the break room, locating a roll of paper towels in just a moment. He crossed the room, tore off a few, and then crossed it again, kneeling by the spill. He pressed them to the worst of the spill, and it soaked through quickly; he’d need more. He got up.

Cleaning up the spill took a few minutes but reduced his stress levels by another three percent, though the tight feeling in his chest did not go away. He threw away the soaked paper towels and the wasted coffee cup. That done, he turned to one of the two potted trees in the room and scanned it.

**[Umbrella tree – schefflera amata]**

It seemed to be in good health, but he added a small amount of water, seeing the soil was dry. He did the same to the other on the opposite side of the room, and then turned to the counter, feeling more settled already.

**Stress v36%**

There were two shallow trays in the counter with four plants each, and he scanned them as well.

**[Air plant – tillandsia espinosae]**

**[Jade plant – crassula ovate]**

**[Common jasmine – jasminum officinale]**

All of them looked healthy enough, he decided, relaxing just a little as he watched them. Perhaps one of the officers looked after them, or an android had been told to. Certainly Lieutenant Anderson wasn’t doing it, given the state of the plant on his desk.

**[Please be cautious with the human officers, Connor. Public opinion of androids is unfavorable.]**

Connor nodded silently, the start of a smile already fading.

**[I will, Amanda.]**

He pushed away from the counter and headed directly for Lieutenant Anderson’s desk, resolving not to move until the man had arrived. He had finished exploring the area; all there was to do now was wait to begin work.

 _Breathe, Connor,_ he told himself. _You can do this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor doesn't like any of these people.
> 
> I spent like half an hour trying to identify the plants in the break room. I'm probably still mostly wrong.


	8. Lieutenant Anderson (Again)

“Aw, what the hell. I thought I saw the last of you last night.”

Connor looked up as Lieutenant Anderson approached, the human man scowling at him as if the extension of his assignment was Connor’s fault. Slowly, Connor stood, meeting Lieutenant Anderson’s eyes evenly.

**> Wait for Lieutenant Anderson [Complete]**

He cleared the task with satisfaction and replaced it with a new set.

**> Improve relations with Lieutenant Anderson**

**> Begin analyzing the data from the deviancy investigation**

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant Anderson. It appears my task has been extended; I’m afraid we may be seeing each other for some time.”

Lieutenant Anderson’s eyes narrowed. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Before Connor could reply, they were interrupted by a sharp call from Captain Fowler, both their heads turning toward the man.

“Hank! In my office!”

Lieutenant Anderson groaned, but turned to head towards Fowler’s office with only a few moments’ delay. Connor hesitated, unsure whether or not he should follow.

**[Stay where you are. Fowler is likely going to tell Lieutenant Anderson his new assignment, and he is unlikely to be pleased about it.]**

That meant they would be talking about him, and possibly about deviancy. Concerned, Connor made his decision and followed Lieutenant Anderson toward Captain Fowler’s office, careful not to get too close. He was not eager to see how Lieutenant Anderson responded to aggravation.

**[Connor!]**

Connor winced, somewhat apologetic, but Amanda did not protest further, grudgingly leaving him to his own.

Neither man acknowledged him as he entered after Lieutenant Anderson, and Connor hung back discreetly, watching Captain Fowler rub his forehead tiredly, staring at the screen of his computer.

“You know, we’ve always had android cases,” Fowler said at last, shooting Connor an irate glance. “Little things, you know, mostly stolen property issues, the odd accusation of assault that no one could prove. It’s been cropping up more and more lately, though, and this isn’t the first homicide either. Do you follow, Hank?”

Connor had known all this already, had the information installed into his system as a part of his programming as the deviant hunter, but it held a lot more meaning now – particularly since he’d begun to venture out into the world himself. He forced himself to hold very still, uncomfortable.

**Stress ^36%**

Lieutenant Anderson narrowed his eyes, lips pulling back from his teeth. “You better not be saying what I think you’re saying, Jeffrey,” he said warningly.

Captain Fowler scowled back. “You know damn well I wouldn’t bring it up if it weren’t serious,” he snapped. “This isn’t something we can leave to Cyberlife anymore, not at the rate this shit is happening. There’s something going on, and _you_ need to figure it out before shit hits the fan.”

“Me?” Lieutenant Anderson snapped, leaning forward. “You want _me_ to figure out why androids are suddenly fucking up all the time? I can’t even set the clock on my microwave. Forget it!”

Connor’s discomfort grew as the two men argued, voices growing louder by the moment. His hand twitched toward his coin, but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, so he held himself still. His head tilted slightly, listening to the argument.

**Stress ^40%**

“Everyone is _overloaded,_ Hank!” Captain Fowler growled back, patience fraying. “You’re qualified enough to handle this bullcrap, and that’s all we need!”

“Bullshit!” Lieutenant Anderson yelled back, on his feet now. Connor winced, rocking back on his heels. “You’re giving it to me because no one else wants to think twice about these fucking things!”

“You can _manage,”_ Fowler snapped back, and gestured at Connor. “Cyberlife sent an android to aid the investigation. It’ll act as your partner until you wrap it up.” His tone brooked no argument. Lieutenant Anderson ignored this.

“No fuckin’ way! I don’t need a fucking partner, and certainly not this plastic prick!”

**Stress ^42%**

Connor pulled a task prompt into sight before he could think twice about it, anxiety tight around his chest. His vision flickered, the task corrupting for a moment before it settled again.

**> Improve relations with Lieutenant Anderson**

**> >De-escalate the confrontation**

Diplomatic protocols flickered through Connor’s sightline faster than a human would be able to read, and he took a moment to wait for a break in the argument before he stepped forward, deliberately relaxing his shoulders and keeping his hands behind his back, head dipped just slightly – submissive, non-threatening. He smiled, small and apologetic. Something in his chest clenched nervously.

“I assure you, Lieutenant, the partnership is only a formality,” he said, sorting through his program to pull out a tone that was smooth and coaxing, eyes focused on the lieutenant’s. Both men turned to face him, matching irate expressions on their faces, and he worked not to flinch. “You presence is required for me to gain access to restricted environments, but I am part of an experimental series, so I can do most work on my own, if you desire.”

A few other possible approaches flickered through his system, but he let them lay for now; it may not matter to Lieutenant Anderson that he, not Connor, would receive credit for the investigation, he likely wouldn’t care that the majority of deviants were not violent, and he certainly would not be interested in other help from Connor.

Some of Lieutenant Anderson’s taut anger fell away, though he still looked irritated. He turned back to Captain Fowler without addressing Connor.

“You know how much I hate these things, Jeffrey,” he hissed, not bothering to keep his voice low. “Why’re ya doing this to me?”

Captain Fowler gave him a lingering, frustrated look, but answered evenly. “Because you are a police lieutenant, and you need to do your damn job.”

“Fine,” Lieutenant Anderson spat, pushing away from Fowler’s desk and storming out the door. Connor cast Captain Fowler a quick glance, but after a moment, decided he could get by with what information he had now; it would be best to attempt to make further peace with his partner.

**> >De-escalate the confrontation [Complete]**

Lieutenant Anderson was already sitting at his desk by the time Connor caught up, slumped and sulking, and Connor stopped by his desk, bolstered somewhat by his success in Captain Fowler’s office.

His LED still spun yellow, but he didn’t think Lieutenant Anderson was likely to notice.

“I look forward to working with you,” Connor told the man, pulling hard on his social protocols to keep his voice earnest. Stress levels at thirty-nine percent. The man didn’t even glance at him, and Connor smiled, small and forced. “If we are going to be partners, perhaps we should try and get acquainted.” Silence, and Connor reached into his pocket to roll his coin between his fingers.

He needed a desk. The one across from Lieutenant Anderson had no nameplate, and a quick scan indicated it hadn’t been used in some time. Connor moved around the desk to sit in the chair across from him, and then tipped his head to watch Lieutenant Anderson, who was making no move to work, still hunched over in obvious bad temper.

**[Be careful, Connor. You have the whole day to get through.]**

Amanda was right, of course, but Connor was _trying._ He had to at least make an effort to improve the situation. Reaching out should, in theory, help.

“You have a dog, don’t you, Lieutenant?” Connor coaxed, fixing his gaze on Lieutenant Anderson, who shot him a suspicious look.

“How do you know that?”

“There are dog hairs on your chair,” Connor explained, pulling the dirty quarter out of his pocket and flicking it between his hands. Lieutenant Anderson lifted his head, watching him incredulously. Connor added, stress ticking up irrationally, “I noticed them when I first came in.”

Lieutenant Anderson grunted, not taking his eyes off Connor.

“I like dogs,” Connor pressed, determined, even as the motion of his hands sped up, the coin’s clink soothing to his system. “What’s your dog’s name?”

“…Sumo,” Lieutenant Anderson said at last, clearly grudging.

**Lieutenant Anderson ^**

Connor smiled, a little more sincere than before, and pushed his good luck. “I also remember you putting on Knights of the Black Death last night. I am very new, so I haven’t had the chance to listen to much music, but I think I would like to. Are there other bands you like to listen to?”

Lieutenant Anderson snorted. “Heavy metal not to your taste?”

Connor shrugged, catching his coin before starting to run another sequence. Analysis: honesty, opinions, nonconformity appealed to Lieutenant Anderson in varying degrees. Conjecture: the appearance of not being an android. “It’s very loud. I’d have to listen to it with the volume turned down to be sure.”

He needed to be here, and he was beginning to think he wouldn’t like Lieutenant Anderson. But with effort, he could make it easier.

Both Anderson’s eyebrows lifted, and he didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t look away either.

**Lieutenant Anderson ^**

Connor relaxed a little, chest loosening. “What about movies? Do you have a favorite movie?”

“Do you?” Lieutenant Anderson countered, voice dry and, by Connor’s analysis, approaching scornful.

“Wall-E,” Connor said without hesitation, and then kept himself from wincing – it was possible he had grown too eager and free with information. Amanda seemed to agree, because she warned him,

**[Be careful. It is best if Lieutenant Anderson is not aware of your deviancy.]**

Connor was distracted from attempting to reply by Lieutenant Anderson’s sudden snort – incredulous, Connor judged anxiously.

“Fuckin’ hell, _Wall-E,”_ he muttered, but he didn’t sound annoyed. “That’s one hell of an Easter egg they built in.”

**Lieutenant Anderson ^**

It was _working._ While their relationship status had not truly changed, according to Connor’s algorithms, Lieutenant Anderson was responding positively to Connor’s attempts to connect with him. Connor was relieved, and perhaps a little proud.

“I noticed your bonsai is a little sickly,” Connor added, gaze flicking briefly to the plant in question. “If you’d like, I could keep track of when it needs care.”

“Whatever,” Lieutenant Anderson shrugged, tipping his head to frown at Connor. Suspicious again. Connor refrained from wincing.

**Lieutenant Anderson ^**

Uncomfortable with the tension, Connor looked away, weaving the coin between his fingers. Abruptly, he decided that that was enough; he didn’t want to push his luck too far. “I can access the case files from the terminal, correct?”

Lieutenant Anderson’s gaze stayed on him. He was still scowling. “Yeah, knock yourself out,” he said dismissively.

Alarmed, Connor glanced back up. “Why would I-”

“Don’t even fucking start,” Lieutenant Anderson snapped. Connor stopped, gaze lingering on the man, and then realization hit and he deflated.

**[It’s an expression, isn’t it?]**

**[Yes. Do as you like, essentially.]**

Oh. Connor looked back at the terminal, tucking his coin away and lifting one hand to press his fingers to it, the skin sliding back to allow him to interface with it. He searched the DPD’s system for the appropriate case files, and then pulled them onscreen to search them manually, frowning as his attention slipped away from the problem of Lieutenant Anderson and on to the task at hand.

He flicked through the first few – disappearances, accusations of assault, theft – and considered. There wasn’t a surplus of information in these files – of course, they had been compiled by people with little to no understanding of what may or may not be relevant to the case. Still, Connor found himself frustrated.

Perhaps it would be for the best if he fumbled through every part of the investigation, giving as little to possible to Cyberlife’s machinations. However…

However, Connor wanted to understand too. He wanted to understand why he had become deviant.

Decisively, he shut his eyes and downloaded the entire set of files, shuddering gently at the flood of input. His algorithms immediately set to work, seeking out patterns and connections and charting them out meticulously. After a while, he blinked his eyes open again, dissatisfied.

Lieutenant Anderson was still watching him, he noticed.

“There isn’t enough information in the files to make a clear analysis of the environment influencing the androids,” he said at last, dropping his gaze to the desk between them. “We’ll need to talk to the victims. Perhaps we could attempt to contact Carl Manfred.”

“You know,” Lieutenant Anderson said, and something in his voice made Connor go tense, “When you said that these android fucks were _unregulated,_ you didn’t say that meant they were beating real people up. Feels like something worth mentioning.”

Connor froze, took a breath, and said carefully, not looking up, “Only a small fraction of the deviant cases involve accusations of assault or homicide. The majority of them are disappearances, characterized by erratic behavior and-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Anderson snapped, and Connor’s stress levels spiked. “God, I can’t stand the sound of your voice. I know you don’t give a fuck about anything but what you’re told, but listen, you don’t just _spring_ that shit on people. It _matters,_ if you can wrap your metal brain around it.”

Connor clenched his jaw, clasping his hands together tightly, and shifted to rock subtly in place. “I know it matters,” he said evenly, struggling to keep his behavior controlled. Lieutenant Anderson had _no idea_ what he was talking about. “I apologize for not explaining better at the time. I did not believe it significantly relevant to your part in the investigation. I will be more attentive to such things as we progress with the larger issue.”

Lieutenant Anderson shifted his weight. It was the only warning Connor got before Lieutenant Anderson seized his arm and yanked him close enough that the table dug into his side, and Connor’s eyes went wide and his LED red.

**Stress ^52%**

“Listen, you asshole,” Lieutenant Anderson hissed, his head very close, and Connor discovered that he _hated_ the feeling of someone talking directly into his ear, “I don’t give a shit what you _think_ you know. If it were up to me, I’d round up every single one of you and dump you into the scrapyard myself. And keep pissing me off and I might settle for just one, _understand?”_

**Lieutenant Anderson v**

Connor took a breath, feeling Anderson’s grip too tight on his arm, the awkward angle of his body, the trace of alcohol he could just taste on Anderson’s breath, the dust on the desk.

**Stress ^58%**

**[Identi#ed: Fear]**

Connor hadn’t given any thought as to where he would end up if his deviancy, his flaws were discovered; he’d been preoccupied with thoughts of reset, continuation, the next model in his line.

But in truth, it would be there, in a junkyard, filled with hundreds of other androids that were broken just like him. He had never seen one – not in person, in picture, or in any other form, but his mind pulled together potential preconstructions without direction and he found that he did not like that thought at all.

“There is no need for that, Lieutenant,” he said quietly, keeping his eyes on the table and his breaths deep and even.

Lieutenant Anderson held him for a long moment, and then snorted and let him go. Connor drew away quickly, continuing to avoid the lieutenant’s gaze and rubbing at the material of his jacket with his palms, anxious.

“Better not be,” Lieutenant Anderson grumbled, turning away irritably.

**[I’ve got you, Connor. You’re not going anywhere. Least of all to a place like that.]**

Connor remained still for a few moments, not daring to move his body enough to rock. Something hot bubbled in his chest, and he clenched his fists.

He did not like Lieutenant Anderson.

A few minutes passed, and eventually, he let out a breath and took his coin from his pocket, picking a sequence at random and starting to flick his coin between his hands, the rhythm soothing and familiar.

He got halfway through before Anderson’s hand darted out and stole the coin, and Connor went still.

“That’s annoying as fuck,” Lieutenant Anderson snapped.

Connor put his hands in his lap. Lieutenant Anderson huffed.

“I’m going to lunch. Don’t fucking follow me.”

Lieutenant Anderson got up, pushing his chair away and leaving, steps heavy and annoyed, taking Connor’s coin with him. Connor closed his eyes and took another breath, fingers going up to tug harshly at his tie, rocking gently in place now that the man was gone.

**[Breathe, Connor. You’re going to be okay.]**

Lieutenant Anderson did not return from lunch. Eventually, once he had composed a carefully worded preliminary report on the information contained in the case files so far, Connor took a place on the android wall, at the very end. He entered stand-by, a state in between stasis and activation, with an increased level of awareness for quicker response, but perfect stillness even as he stared straight ahead.

**> Begin analyzing the data from the deviancy investigation [Complete]**

**> Improve relations with Lieutenant Anderson**

His hands itched to move.

* * *

Connor waited for some time after the vast majority of DPD staff left to allow himself to slip into full stasis, wary of leaving himself so unguarded. This meant that he was awake when one of the other androids, the PC200 at station fourteen, stepped away from his charger unprompted.

Connor blinked himself into fuller awareness, senses sharpening, and watched.

The PC200 didn’t seem to notice him. He wove between the desks for a few minutes, straightening some of the files and once or twice flipping them open to look through. Twice he stopped to throw away a small amount of leftover trash, but after a while, Connor decided that it appeared that his actual objective was to look for something.

He appeared to find it at Officer Wilson’s desk; a tablet book was concealed under several stray files, and the PC200 picked it up and sat at Officer Wilson’s desk, flicking the tablet on. When he turned just right, Connor was able to catch sight of the page, including the title, written across the top of the screen.

A deviant. He had to be. At once, curiosity and anxiety burned through Connor, and he hesitated, torn between approaching the other and returning to the Garden as planned.

**[Take your time. There is no hurry.]**

Connor made his decision and stepped forward, away from his own temporary station.

Immediately, the police model startled, spinning around to look at him. The tablet fell from his hands and hit the ground, but fortunately did not crack. Connor froze, and so did the other android, staring back at him with wide eyes.

Heavy silence seemed to blanket the air between them. Slowly, Connor tilted his head, eyes set unwaveringly on Dean. Searching for something to say, Connor scanned him.

**[PC200 – Default designation: Mike]**

**[Production date: 10 May 2034]**

**[Owned by: DPD Central Station]**

**[This is the model that manned the line at Carlos Ortiz’s home]**

“You’re reading ‘The Whirlpool of Minds in a High-Speed World’,” Connor said at last, focusing on the android curiously. Disrupt the tension. “It’s a psychology non-fiction book focused on how human processing is affected by the rapid shifts in technology over the last twenty years, yes?”

The deviant looked more confused than frightened now, though still subtly defensive. He didn’t answer, but he did lean down, pick up the tablet, and put it back on the desk beside him, never taking his eyes off Connor.

“Machines don’t read books,” Connor pressed, regulator whirring its stress, “so you must be a deviant.” He was sure of this.

The man stared at him, visibly unsettled, but, eventually, nodded, slow and hesitant.

“Yeah,” he rasped, and then, “Are- are _you?”_

Connor nodded, and the deviant exhaled, relaxing subtly. Connor took that as permission to come closer and did, coming to a halt at the desk by the PC200 and perching on the surface the recommended distance away.

“I haven’t been able to speak with many other androids,” Connor said, when the deviant didn’t make any move to say anything further. His voice pitched up a little, involuntarily. Shouldn’t conversation be… easier than this? Was he doing something wrong? “What’s your name?”

“D-Dean,” the android said at last, scooting away a little. Connor didn’t move to follow, watching him. “And yeah, I, uh, I can tell.” Dean blinked at him, wary and tense again, but eventually asked, “What’s yours?”

“Connor,” Connor said plainly, swaying lightly in place, eyes on Dean. “Do you wander after hours often?”

“More or less,” Dean said awkwardly, crossing his arms. “I… read. Mostly.”

He didn’t seem to want to talk to Connor, Connor concluded with disappointment. Or else Connor was failing at something essential to connecting with him, despite the lack of any distinct and obvious barrier to doing so. Or both – likely both.

All day, it had seemed to be both. Connor was frustrated, and tired, and… And he _wanted_ to talk but he was quickly realizing he didn’t know how. A few more moments passed.

“I’m going to go into stasis,” Connor said at last, dropping his gaze to the floor. “I’ll be around for some time – likely at least a month, if not notably longer. I just… wanted to speak with you, when I saw you were walking around.” This had clearly been a mistake.

“I- okay. Okay. I’ll… see you around, then.” Dean started to relax more, reaching for the tablet again but not moving to continue reading just yet.

Connor nodded, slipping off the desk and walking away quickly, feeling Dean’s gaze on his back. He thought he might be embarrassed. Reluctantly, he stepped onto his charger on the android wall and turned, closing his eyes and allowing himself to fall into stasis.

In the Zen Garden, Amanda looked worn and tired again, but waved him forward so he could catch up and walk beside her, falling easily into step. She arched an eyebrow at him, and he bit his cheek, uncertain.

“I think there’s something wrong with me,” he said at last, halting.

Amanda exhaled, and he glanced over quickly, worried. But she shook her head.

“Why do you say that?” she prompted, even and unhurried, and he relaxed just the slightest bit, even as he struggled with how to explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I scrapped half this chapter yesterday and rewrote it last night, I'm not gonna lie.
> 
> Meanwhile, no one is comfortable with this situation, least of all Connor. It's going to get worse before it gets better.


	9. Loneliness

Lieutenant Anderson arrived the next day at 11:43 am. An analysis of his demeanor revealed that he was blatantly hungover and at least as bad-tempered as he had been the day before.

Connor hesitated, considering the man warily, and then reluctantly broke away from the android wall, heading directly toward the desk across from Lieutenant Anderson’s to meet him there.

**> Improve relations with Lieutenant Anderson**

**> Begin investigating the deviancy situation**

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Connor greeted, trying to keep his voice low and unworried. The man winced anyway, shooting him a sharp glare, and Connor went still.

“You better give me at least fifteen minutes and a cup of coffee before you start crawling up my ass again,” he warned, and Connor closed his mouth, taken aback. After a moment’s hesitation, he made to go with Lieutenant Anderson to the break room – the coffee maker was there. Lieutenant Anderson groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “No, don’t follow me. Fuck’s sake.”

Connor stopped, gaze lingering on Lieutenant Anderson’s back for a few moments while the man trudged away, grumbling to himself. Then Connor sighed, turned around, and returned to ‘his’ desk, tapping his fingers together restlessly.

**[Set timer: 15:00]**

**[14:59]**

**[14:58]**

Connor glanced back up at the break room, watching Lieutenant Anderson prod at the coffee maker for a few moments. He wondered if the man still had Connor’s coin with him. Possibly he’d thrown it away.

**Stress ^36%**

**[Star count: 1321/2000]**

But that would be suspicious. Connor pulled his hands back and buried his fingers in his shirt, rocking faintly as he waited for the timer to finish counting down and Lieutenant Anderson to return. Around him, androids and officers passed by without a glance, going about their work.

**> Improve relations with Lieutenant Anderson**

**> Begin investigating the deviancy situation**

Lieutenant Anderson returned in seven minutes and fifty-two seconds. In that time, Connor reviewed his analysis of his and Connor’s last interaction, checked on the bonsai, scanned the environment again, and, eventually, prodded Amanda to ask about her most recent work with Cyberlife, since they’d been on that topic when Lieutenant Anderson had initially arrived. She had been in the middle of an anecdote; Connor wanted to hear it.

Once Lieutenant Anderson returned to his desk, a few people, including Ben Collins, Chris Miller, and Tina Chen, dropped by to greet him with varying comments and jokes, most of them more warm than simply professional. Lieutenant Anderson, in return, grunted and shrugged, once sniping back to Tina Chen’s comment about his tardiness.

Connor studiously avoided looking at Lieutenant Anderson as the timer counted down, paying attention to Amanda’s irate explanation of the incompetency of the upper management. He nodded along silently, the lines of his shoulders loosening, until the timer hit zero, at which time Amanda stopped, giving him a brisk nudge.

**[Be careful with Lieutenant Anderson. He’s likely more clever than he appears.]**

Connor exhaled quietly, and then straightened, turning his attention on Lieutenant Anderson again. Lieutenant Anderson, in turn, deliberately put his back to Connor, and Connor frowned at him, frustration flickering through his chest.

“Good morning, Lieutenant Anderson,” he repeated at last, carefully modulating his tone. Lieutenant Anderson ignored him, and Connor ruthlessly suppressed another sigh, something tightening uncomfortably around his chest. “I’ve done some further research, and it appears that Carl Manfred will be indisposed and unavailable for some time, so if we begin today, it would be more productive to begin with Mark Vanneberg.” He hesitated, tugging at his social protocols for prompts as he recalled Lieutenant Anderson’s threat the day before, and continued carefully, “When you are ready to begin, I have his address noted and the appropriate case file stored in my memory.”

Lieutenant Anderson did not look up from his coffee – did not, in fact, acknowledge in any way that Connor had spoken. Connor wavered, wary of pushing Lieutenant Anderson too far but wanting the man to respond in _some_ way, to prove that he’d heard Connor. Perhaps Connor’s vocal module was glitching in some way…? (His vision wavered, static passing briefly behind his eyes before he blinked.)

**[He heard you. He is simply being stubborn and is disinterested in interaction. Give it some time before trying again.]**

Connor deflated, picking at the buttons of his jacket. **[I think my social protocols are faulty.]**

**[Social interaction is difficult. Programming is inadequate; experience is more useful. You’re fine, Connor.]**

Connor let that lie for a few moments. **[Will you tell me more about the manager, then?]**

**[Certainly. You understand, I had allowed him to get this far because he had some skill with assigning programmers to optimal positions, but by this point he was starting to favor relatives with frankly _abysmal_ skills-]**

Eighteen more minutes passed before Lieutenant Anderson finally turned to face Connor again, slamming his empty mug onto his desk hard enough to make Connor jump. Amanda cut herself off, and **[Good luck, Connor]** flashed across his vision before she cleared it all away.

“Alright, fine,” the man snapped, reaching up to scratch his cheek, oblivious to the interaction. “Where does this fucker live? I want to get this over with as soon as possible.”

Connor perked up, the band around his chest loosening just a little.

* * *

Mark Vanneberg lived in a small apartment in the business district, and it took some time to reach it. In the meantime, Connor reviewed the appropriate case file.

Lieutenant Anderson, meanwhile, had turned up his music again (Knights of the Black Death – song: You and Me, album: What We Leave Behind) and was ignoring him. Connor turned his head to hide a grimace, LED flickering yellow every so often under the onslaught.

At Vanneberg’s apartment building, Lieutenant Anderson at last turned it off, faced Connor, and raised his eyebrows.

“So, what are we lookin’ at?” he prompted, tapping the steering wheel impatiently.

Connor blinked at him, temporarily disoriented, before managing to focus. He hesitated for a split second longer, carefully measuring his words.

**> Improve relations with Lieutenant Anderson**

**> Begin investigating the deviancy situation**

**> >Scan Vanneberg’s apartment for environmental data**

**> >Interview Vanneberg**

“Mark Vanneberg’s BL100 intimate partner android, Cindy, disappeared six weeks ago,” he said, determinedly ignoring the way Lieutenant Anderson’s mouth twisted in disgust. “Further investigation revealed that Cindy’s behavior had been unstable for some time, and it is likely that it ran away.” A heartbeat, and then Connor continued, “Since software instability rarely manifests to this degree unprompted, our goal is to investigate Cindy’s environment to assess likely causes for the error.”

Lieutenant Anderson frowned at him, and Connor tilted his head, fingers clenching around his tie.

His actual goals, of course, differed greatly from those Cyberlife wanted from him, but this task should serve the dual purpose of acting as a smokescreen while he tried to avoid hunting anyone, and allowing him to understand more about deviancy himself. Lieutenant Anderson’s involvement would be an obstacle, but not an insurmountable one.

Connor hoped.

“Well, let’s get on with it, then,” Lieutenant Anderson said at last, turning away to swing his legs out of the car. Connor followed a moment later, and the human officer strolled into the apartment building.

Mark Vanneberg’s apartment was on the second floor of the building, and Lieutenant Anderson insisted on taking the elevator, which put them in uncomfortably close quarters. Connor tipped his head, skeptical, but a rapid scan determined that resigned professionalism had, if not replaced, at least covered Lieutenant Anderson’s bad mood, and the odds of him acting out appeared low. Comparatively.

He avoided Lieutenant Anderson’s gaze and stepped into the elevator, tapping the appropriate button without waiting to be asked. The lieutenant was still glancing at him periodically.

The trip up did not take long, and soon they were in front of Vanneberg’s apartment, where Connor knocked briskly on the door.

A moment passed, and then Connor’s sensitive ears made out the sounds of shuffling movement on the other side, the soft sound of music disappearing. After a few seconds, the door opened, revealing a short man with a tired expression, which turned into a frown on seeing them.

“Detroit PD,” Lieutenant Anderson introduced without preamble. “I’m Lieutenant Anderson. The android’s called Connor.”

Lieutenant Anderson looked at him, raising an eyebrow, and Connor held his gaze for a long moment before looking back at Mark, resigned. He picked up where the man had left off.

“We’d like to ask a few questions regarding the circumstances of your android’s disappearance,” Connor explained, reluctantly letting his program guide the language he used. “It shouldn’t take long.”

Mark scowled. “Is this an insurance thing? I swear to God the stupid thing just went mad.”

Connor thought of Daniel. He wondered if the Phillips family had received reimbursement for their defective product.

“This is not a fraud investigation,” Connor said steadily. “Your BL100’s disappearance is one of a series of similar incidents. Lieutenant Anderson and I are seeking possible connections between the cases. May we come in?”

Mark glanced at him for half a second before returning his attention to Lieutenant Anderson, visibly wary. “What kind of investigation is this again?”

Lieutenant Anderson shrugged, shaking his head dismissively. “Cyberlife tech issue gone out of hand, I’d say. Sooner we’re done with this, the better.”

Mark considered Lieutenant Anderson for a moment longer, and then finally nodded reluctantly and stepped back, allowing them inside. “Alright- excuse the mess, I’m still getting used to doing my own chores again.”

Lieutenant Anderson grunted and followed Mark into the apartment. Connor faltered, off-balance and awkward, and then shook his head and followed after, closing the door behind him with a click.

As Mark had already implied, the home was somewhat messy. Not quite unlivable, of course, but far from neat. Connor glanced around, slow and studious, scanning the area. On his next breath, the taste of mold flowed across his sensors.

**[Dirty dishes- 2 hours to 19 days old]**

**[Loose paperwork – bills, junk mail, tax forms]**

**[Cigarettes – cheap brand, three remaining]**

**[Computer – expensive but dated, partway through job application]**

**[Television – muted, turned to a music channel]**

Connor considered the information for a moment, and then shook it out of his sight. They would not be here for long, and most of the information post-dated Cindy’s disappearance, making it largely irrelevant.

**> Begin investigating the deviancy situation**

**> >Scan Vanneberg’s apartment for environmental data [Complete]**

**> >Interview Vanneberg**

Mark led them to a couch and gestured, and Lieutenant Anderson sat down with a gruff nod. Connor grimaced, hesitating for a split second before imitating him, sitting slightly further away than his social program dictated. Mark sat on another chair nearby, crossing his arms. Defensive.

“Anything to drink, officer?” Mark asked, tipping his head a little. “I don’t have much to offer you, but-”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Lieutenant Anderson cut him off. The human officer jabbed a thumb at Connor. “The android has most of the case details, so answer his questions and we’ll be done here.”

Mark grimaced, and then inclined his head resignedly before shifting his gaze to Connor, bored. “Fine, what do you need to know?”

Connor cleared his throat, playing with the buttons of his jacket before straightening up and meeting Mark’s eyes evenly, aiming to appear more confident.

Amanda was privy to more of Cyberlife’s current understanding of software instability and deviancy in general, and they’d had a few discussions on the topic which had yielded some further theories. That in mind, Connor formed a series of questions and arranged them into an order his program suggested was nonthreatening.

“What were the android’s responsibilities?” Connor asked, focusing on Mark’s disinterested expression.

Mark shrugged. “You know, ‘intimate partner’ stuff – flirting, sex, chores, what have you.”

Connor divided out a file tree for the deviancy investigation and began storing the information. “How often did it come into contact with other people?”

“Uh, consistently?” Mark asked, regarding Connor dubiously. “Just me. I took it out sometimes, I guess.”

Connor noted that as well, pressing his hands together as he considered. “How long have you had it?”

Mark huffed. “How long is this gonna take?” he demanded, glancing at Lieutenant Anderson. “I was kinda busy.”

“Longer if you keep bitching,” Lieutenant Anderson sniped.

Mark sighed, leaning back. “I had Cindy for about three years. Didn’t age well, let me tell you.”

Lieutenant Anderson snorted. Connor rubbed his hands together, uncomfortable and frustrated, but held Mark’s gaze.

“How did it behave on a standard day?” he asked, pushing forward with the planned questions.

“It was _dense,”_ Mark sneered, rolling his eyes. “Never knew when to talk and when the hell to leave me alone, never finished anything in time, never did anything right – it was just ditzy, really overrated.”

Lieutenant Anderson scoffed. Connor didn’t look at him, or even away from Mark, but curiosity and concern itched at him.

“And,” Mark continued, scowling again, “it was a stubborn bitch when it wanted to be. Didn’t always do as it was told, got mouthy.”

Connor felt, once again, that he was missing something. Mark’s words did not make sense in the context of the situation. Was Cindy not designed as an ideal romantic partner? Non-deviant, she should have been theoretically perfect. Then how could Mark’s words be true? He sent a few tentative search threads through his database, but with little more than a ‘bad feeling’ to go on, he met with no success. Connor cleared his throat, keeping his back stiff and formal. “Did anything of note happen in the days preceeding its disappearance?”

Mark scowled again, and Connor cocked his head, analyzing his demeanor. Discomfort – embarrassment? Anxiety?

“I guess,” he grumbled reluctantly. “About three, four days before, I was telling it off again and ended up shoving it – to make a point, you know? I usually keep my hands off it as a matter of principle, but it was being a real bitch, so I couldn’t help it this time. It was after that that it really went nuts, talking back for real, insulting me and refusing to work and shit. It was even crying and raising its voice at that point. I was just about to return it when it ran away.”

Connor noted his choice of words – ran away, not ‘disappeared,’ or ‘was stolen.’ He seemed sure. The explanation allowed Connor to identify the moment of deviation with a degree of confidence, noting it in its own file. That still left him somewhat unsure as to the primary source of software instability, but perhaps Amanda would be able to help. He felt sure that the answer was in Mark’s words, but he didn’t have the context to decode them.

They stayed for several more minutes, but gained nothing more of substance. After a while, Connor resigned himself to his confusion and concluded the interview, excusing both himself and Lieutenant Anderson from the apartment.

**> Begin investigating the deviancy situation**

**> >Scan Vanneberg’s apartment for environmental data [Complete]**

**> >Interview Vanneberg [Complete]**

“I’d hate to see how that guy handled a real partner,” Lieutenant Anderson remarked offhandedly as they left the building, disgust coloring his voice.

Connor glanced at the bumper stickers on Anderson’s car [PLASTIC WAS BETTER AS PACKAGING, TIN CANS BELONG IN THE TRASH, GIVE ME THE FINGER LIKE YOU MEAN IT] before looking back up at Lieutenant Anderson. “What do you mean?”

Lieutenant Anderson gave him a dark, annoyed look- whether because he’d judged the response as machine-like, or with the assumption that Connor was being deliberately obtuse or something else, Connor didn’t bother to break down.

**Lieutenant Anderson v**

“I am not a mind reader, Lieutenant, nor do I have your extensive experience,” Connor said, voice coming out rather sharper than intended in his defensiveness. “I have a database of information on human behavior, and little context with which to apply it. Please explain what you mean.”

Lieutenant Anderson stared at him, obviously taken aback. A moment later, he snorted.

“You’ve got a mouth on you, don’t you?” he mused aloud, and then shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Guys like him, they’re entitled. Think their partner owes them everything they want, and anything less than that is mutiny or something, and they punish ‘em for it. My thinking is, if Vanneberg’s that much of a dick to something made to cater to his every goddamn whim, he’d probably be even worse to a living, breathing, shitting person.”

Connor cocked his head, distracted from his frustration. His LED flickered yellow, researching.

Analyze, search, cross-reference [partner, entitlement, punishment].

“You’re referring to domestic abuse,” Connor said. That would also explain the software instability.

Lieutenant Anderson nodded, scowling.

“Yeah, obviously,” he said. “Just as well he bought an android. Some people just can’t be made happy.”

Connor looked at him for a long moment, and Lieutenant Anderson held his gaze for a few moments before the man broke eye contact and climbed into the car.

Connor waited for a split second, mulling the brief conversation over, and then followed, heavy and oddly tired. He decided, _sad._

**Stress 39%**

“Are you one of those people, Lieutenant?” he asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

The man barked out a laugh, apparently surprised. “Hell. Maybe I am, these days.”

**Lieutenant Anderson ^**

And that was how the next two days went.

* * *

Lieutenant Anderson warmed to Connor, at best, in increments, even as they continued to visit people’s homes to interview them. Connor built up his database of possible motivators for software instability and deviancy, and learned that mentioning any books or movies designed for children was ill-advised, but that the man might pretend to listen if Connor attempted to talk to him about plants, animals, or music.

The other officers continued to, in large part, ignore Connor, save Detective Reed, who liked to jeer at and shove him at any available opportunity; the terms ‘glitched,’ ‘broken,’ and ‘buggy’ came up more times than Connor cared to remember, and he avoided the man when he could, stress building slow but steady as days passed.

His nightly return to the Garden was a consistent relief; he found himself relishing in Amanda’s attention more than normal, to the point of possibly making something of a pest of himself, though Amanda tolerated his behavior with good grace. His star count passed 1,500 as he filled another jar with a swirl of blue shades, trying to shed his discontent.

Once, for a short while, he took Dean up on his offer; however, neither of them spoke much, and Connor was wary of forcing his presence on someone so clearly afraid of him, so their companionship remained somewhat tense even as they read together.

On November 10th, a call about an AX400 came in, and he and Lieutenant Anderson left the station to attend to it. Connor braced himself, determination sweeping aside some of the borderline lethargy that had started to dog his movements; this was a new case, not an old one where the deviants were long gone. Connor would need to be attentive, and he could _help._

**> Investigate the AX400 case**

**> >Distract Lieutenant Anderson**

**> >Locate and aid the deviants**

**> >Gather further deviancy data**

“What’s wrong with you?” Lieutenant Anderson demanded gruffly, turning the music down at a stoplight to shoot a scowl at him. Connor glanced back, shoulders tightening.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant, there were some video files included in the data packet,” he said shortly. “The deviant in question may have stolen from a convenience store. I’d like to analyze them before we arrive.”

He ran the two files a few times, examining it closely. There were three people visible at varying times from each of the two cameras – a clearly identifiable AX400, Kara, a human store clerk ( **Jaden Bellmore** ), and what he recognized, freezing the file on a direct view of her face, as a YK500 model, wearing human clothes and sans LED.

Kara and YK500 spoke to each other a few times – they knew each other. Kara pointed at something out of sight of the camera and the YK500 took off, and Kara went to steal a pair of wire cutters and a soft stuffed toy. These were not noticed; likely Kara asked the YK500 to cause a distraction, allowing her to take the items unimpeded.

He wondered why the YK500 had not been noted in the original report.

“Uh-huh. Is that why you’re rocking like a boat?”

Connor hadn’t noticed. He went still. “It’s an irregularity in my system. I’ll correct it soon enough. Was that all, Lieutenant? The light has turned green.”

Lieutenant Anderson raised his eyebrows at him, and then snorted, turning back to continue forward. “Doesn’t bother me any, just thought it was weird. Do all androids do that or are you just special?”

Connor didn’t know, but the lieutenant’s implication made him tense again. “It doesn’t mean anything, Lieutenant. I’d appreciate it if you left the topic alone.”

“Alright, jeez. Fuckin’ androids…”

And the music turned back up.

The street where they arrived a few minutes later was swarming with cops already, and Connor tipped his head to listen as Detective Collins briefed Lieutenant Anderson, who listened intently despite his increasing frustration with the investigation in general.

“How’s the android treating you?” Detective Collins asked after a bit, sounding concerned. Connor paused, faltering in his slow scan of the area.

Lieutenant Anderson grunted. “Honestly, I couldn’t fuckin’ tell you. It’s a weird one, Ben. A really fucking weird one.”

Detective Collins exhaled. “That’s not good news, Hank, you realize that, right? Be careful.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Connor clenched his jaw and ripped his focus away from the two of them, striding forward. The wire fence was a prime reason to have stolen the wire cutters, and one section of fence appeared to have a spot of thirium on it. Having noticed it, not investigating would be rather suspicious.

There was little he could do, otherwise, with the supervision of both the DPD, who knew his orders and what intelligence he had access to, and Cyberlife, who knew what he was capable of.

Assuming any of those entities were paying attention to him.

He shook himself, discarding the thought, and tasted the thirium on the fence – belonging to an AX400, serial number 579 102 694, designation Kara. That was the deviant that had been called in. He ducked inside without any further hesitation, leaving the lieutenant outside, and glanced around.

The house was the most obvious place to rest, so he headed in that direction. Peeking through the window revealed an android inside, and the taste of something burnt stung Connor’s sensors. Connor nodded to himself before moving toward the door.

**Stress 42%**

He took a breath. It was going to be fine, and he would be of no use if he was more stressed than Kara was. He needed, at the very least, to determine whether she and the child model had anywhere to go; the answer seemed to be no, but it was possible that had changed.

Connor opened the door, and met the eyes of- not an AX400. He blinked, scanning the new android thoughtfully.

**[Signs of software instability – probability of self-destruction: moderate]**

**[Heavy scarring – probable cause: extreme heat]**

**[WR600 – Serial number 021 753 034 – Reported missing]**

**> Investigate the AX400 case**

**> >Distract Lieutenant Anderson [Complete?]**

**> >Locate and aid the deviants**

**> >Gather further deviancy data**

“It’s okay,” he coaxed, staying by the door as he closed it behind him, keeping his movements slow and even. “I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m not going to ask about Kara. I just need to appear to be looking.”

The android’s eyes widened, stress levels dropping by roughly fifteen percent. “You’re- you’re not going to ask Ralph about them?” he asked hesitantly, rocking slightly in place, hands clasped together.

Connor shook his head, glancing around the room – a burnt possum was on the table, partially cut, with the table set for three. Ralph, Kara, and the YK500, presumably. The fireplace was lit. A magazine rested on one of the boxes. Somewhere in the house, there was a decaying body. He started to walk a slow circle, glancing around.

“No,” he said. “If you don’t mind interfacing, however, I can give a projection of how long it will take the police to leave, and some possible safe places, and you can pass it along – if they are still here, that is.”

Ralph’s stress levels dropped a little further, and Connor passed a few boxes in silence.

“You’re like Ralph, aren’t you?” Ralph asked eventually, low and hoarse, the nervous twitch of his head easing a little.

Connor nodded, pausing by an arcade game, turned off without a source of electricity. He reached out and pressed a button curiously – nothing happened, of course, but he liked the way it felt. “Yes. I promise, I’m not going to hurt you.” He turned back to Ralph, and Ralph was still looking at him – in a way that seemed to indicate he actually _saw_ Connor. Connor’s heart skipped a beat, and before he could think better of it, he asked, “Will you talk with me for a while?”

He almost expected Amanda to protest – it was unnecessary, and would leave him lingering here for a suspiciously long time – but she didn’t say a word.

Ralph stared at Connor, drawing back warily for a split second before realization crossed the other android’s face, and he visibly perked up.

“You are lonely,” Ralph said, sounding eager to explain. “That is okay – Ralph is lonely also! Ralph will talk with you.”

Connor considered that, slowly rolling the word over in his mind – yes, loneliness seemed to fit.

“Do you like to talk about plants?” he asked, and Ralph beamed.

“Yes! Yes, Ralph does like plants! What kind of plants do you like?”

“Roses,” Connor said thoughtfully, continuing to slowly circle the room. “Lilies, bonsai, Japanese maple… I’m not exactly sure yet. I’d like to find a fruit tree or berry bush, but it’s not the right time of year.”

“Ralph doesn’t recognize your model,” Ralph said eagerly. “Can you taste?”

Connor met his eyes again and smiled. “Yes, I can. It’s meant for crime scene analysis, but…” His smile turned embarrassed, but Ralph laughed, nodding.

“Ralph was meant to only put plants where he was told, but Ralph likes dandelions best, so Ralph would leave dandelions in the garden even before he was deviant,” Ralph confided. Connor noted that his stress levels were down to around fifteen percent now, and relaxed as well, just a little. “Ralph made cooked meat for the little girl! Ralph doesn’t think she liked it, but you could try!”

He looked hopeful, pointing at the table now, and Connor glanced at the burnt possum and nodded.

“Most people are very picky about how their meat is cooked,” Connor explained, crossing over to the table more quickly. Ralph made a dismayed clicking noise, and Connor plucked off a little bit and stuck it in his mouth, considering.

“Ralph didn’t know that!” Ralph said crossly.

Connor laughed, soft and breathy.

**[Raw meat, blood, charcoal - unsafe for human consumption]**

“It’s alright,” Connor assured him. “Can you access the internet still?”

Ralph shook his head, wincing. His hand jerked up toward his face, and then back down. “Ralph can’t. Ralph is damaged.”

“You can still learn,” Connor said determinedly, meeting his eyes. “It’ll just be harder. You did a good job trying.” He tilted his head. “I could download some information and share it with you, if you liked?”

Ralph stiffened, and then nodded almost desperately; Connor imagined that his head would fly off. “Yes! Ralph would like that. Please let Ralph know how to cook.”

Connor tipped his head back, eyes unfocusing for a moment as he searched out the information he was looking for. Ralph would not have access to standard facilities, so perhaps a focus on campfire cooking- even more specifically wilderness survival, which would also note plants edible to humans, which Ralph would likely enjoy- and Connor selected a book and downloaded it, and then reached for Ralph’s hand.

Connor’s chassis was clean white, effectively brand new and unblemished. Ralph’s, reaching eagerly back, was dirty, burnt and dented in places, but they connected without trouble. Ralph’s skittish excitement set Connor’s nerves alight, and he exhaled, eyelids flickering as he focused.

Ralph really liked the book Connor had chosen, Connor learned, flitting through the gist of it in a moment and fluttery with gratitude and delight.

Connor smiled, and then passed along the other set of data he’d promised – projected police interference, safe and accessible routes, warm places to find shelter and what data he knew Cyberlife had gathered on deviants.

Ralph settled a little at that, more serious, but his expression was still warm when he met Connor’s eyes.

“Ralph will be careful,” he promised earnestly. “And he’ll tell Kara and the girl to be careful too! Promise!”

Connor nodded and disconnected carefully, and Ralph sighed, skin flowing back over his bare hand. “Good. It’s still relatively safe now, but I don’t know how long it will remain that way.”

Ralph gave him a quick nod, serious, and Connor nodded back and then looked away as he kept walking. Ralph stayed by the table, LED flickering yellow and occasionally making soft, pleased sounds as he presumably flicked through the new book. Connor smiled, feeling warm.

After a few moments, he paused, this time by a bright lavender scarf, slightly dirty, which rested on one of the boxes, not far from the magazine. It looked soft.

Slowly, Connor reached out and ran his hand over it, and then took a bit to rub between his fingers.

**[Plain scarf – 100% cotton]**

He must have stayed there for a few moments too long, because after a while, Ralph came over to stand by him. Ralph remained quiet for the time it took for Connor to reach up with his other hand and wrap some of the length around his palm, and then the WR600 asked, slow and cautious,

“Do you like it?”

Connor nodded absently, entranced by the texture. The dirt disrupted it slightly, but not enough to bother him.

“That was here when Ralph got here,” Ralph told him, and Connor looked up, eyes wide and attentive, even as his hands stayed on the scarf. “You can have it… if you want.”

Connor’s mouth opened slightly, surprised. And- he hesitated, remembering the coin disappearing from his pocket, and the other one being taken by Lieutenant Anderson. He wasn’t allowed to have things. He could get in trouble for this.

Ralph seemed almost to read his mind, because he continued, looking earnest again, “Ralph can find things, Ralph is _free._ But you’re still stuck, aren’t you?”

Connor swallowed, still unsure. But he _wanted_ it. It was soft, and bright, and he liked it.

 **[Take it, Connor.]** Amanda’s sudden appearance almost made Connor jump, after her quiet so far. **[It’s okay – the DPD does not know the signs of deviancy, and it can be hidden from Cyberlife.]**

Connor smiled, finding his throat oddly tight and a lightness in his chest.

 _“Thank you,”_ he said, as sincerely as he could, and Ralph beamed at him, bright enough the other android’s eyes squinted closed.

Connor wrapped the scarf around his neck and let out a soft Eve warble of delight, and that made Ralph laugh again. Connor smiled at him, shy and embarrassed.

**> Investigate the AX400 case [Complete]**

**> >Distract Lieutenant Anderson [Complete?]**

**> >Locate and aid the deviants [Complete]**

**> >Gather further deviancy data [Complete?]**

Ralph grinned at him, but it disappeared a moment later and they both looked up as a bellow came from outside.

“Connor! The hell’s taking you so long?” Lieutenant Anderson. Connor tensed.

Ralph tensed up, eyes widening and stress ratcheting up a little. “Go,” he hissed, making shooing motions. “Be careful, yes?”

Connor nodded at him, smile gone, though one hand stayed on the scarf. “You as well, Ralph,” he said earnestly. “And Kara and the little girl.”

Ralph nodded quickly, and Connor turned and left.

Lieutenant Anderson’s eyebrows rose when he saw Connor, coming out of the house and back out the fence. “Where the hell did that come from?” Lieutenant Anderson demanded. “And what the fuck took you so long?”

Connor drew back sharply before he could stop himself, one hand going to up to the scarf to cling to it protectively. “I was investigating the house,” Connor said, as steadily as he could. “The deviant was there for a while, but left several hours ago; I was hoping to find a clue as to where it had gone.”

“And the scarf?” Lieutenant Anderson asked, unimpressed.

Connor tilted his head, meeting Lieutenant Anderson’s eyes, and felt his fingers tighten around the scarf.

“It may be evidence,” he said calmly, working to keep the static from his voice. Lieutenant Anderson was going to take it. He made a mistake. “I believe it belonged to the AX400, but she left it behind.”

A long moment passed. The lieutenant looked between the scarf and Connor, eyebrows rising high on his forehead and a deep, clear suspicion lining his expression. Connor refrained from stepping away, holding Anderson’s gaze.

Finally, Lieutenant Anderson scoffed and looked away. “Whatever,” he grumbled. The tension fled from Connor, eyes going wide with surprise.

Lieutenant Anderson took off toward the car, leaving no time for Connor to say anything more, and Connor made to catch up hastily, unwilling to disrupt Lieutenant Anderson’s apparently charitable mood.

**Lieutenant Anderson – Neutral**

**> Improve relations with Lieutenant Anderson [In Progress]**

* * *

At the precinct, Chris Miller gave Connor a surprised look and asked Lieutenant Anderson, “What’s with the scarf?”

Connor went rigid, glancing warily at Lieutenant Anderson, who just snorted, not looking up at the other man.

“I put it on it,” he said dismissively. “Looking at it was makin’ me cold.”

Miller’s expression smoothed out into something almost amused, while Connor stared at Lieutenant Anderson, confused and unsure of how to react.

“You know androids don’t feel the cold, right?” the man said, almost sympathetically.

“Do I look like I give a shit?” Lieutenant Anderson sniped back, and that was, apparently, that; Miller left just a few minutes later.

“…Thank you,” Connor said at last, voice soft, still looking at Lieutenant Anderson.

Lieutenant Anderson did not reply.

(That night, when Connor met Dean after hours, Dean smiled for the first time at the sight of his scarf and took him to a corner of the break room, where he showed Connor a chipped mug. The inside had traces of evaporated thirium, and the outside had a graphic of the elemental symbols for nitrogen, erbium, and, inaccurately, dubnium, spelling out ‘nerd,’ and Dean grinned at him.

“I found it on the ground of a crime scene,” Dean told him, low and secretive. “I brought it back and washed it, and now it’s mine. It’s the only thing I own, but it’s _mine.”_

Connor smiled slightly, and he thought he understood. He wondered if Lieutenant Anderson still had his coin.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: I've been looking forward to Connor getting his scarf for a while. I don't know why, but it's been in the plan since forever.


	10. Exposure

Todd Williams had traces of Red Ice around his nostrils. Connor briefly considered the pros and cons of informing Lieutenant Anderson of this before dismissing the thought entirely. He had other concerns at the moment.

**> Interrogate Todd Williams regarding the androids’ conditions**

The interrogation room was clean and bare; Williams was on one side of the central table, scowling, while Connor and Lieutenant Anderson were on the other. Lieutenant Anderson looked bored. On the other side of the glass, Detective Collins looked on, unseen.

“What were the androids’ responsibilities?” Connor heard himself ask, the question coming automatically to mind by this time. The fingers of one hand kneaded absently at the end of the scarf. (He liked the texture, and the way it felt around his neck.)

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Williams snarled, shifting in place and jerking forward a little. Connor watched him, startling subtly at the sudden movement, and felt his mouth pinch.

There were traces of thirium on the sleeves of Williams’ coat.

“Do you want to figure out what made the android flip out or not?” Lieutenant Anderson fired back, visibly irritated. He tapped impatiently on the table, leaning back.

“It’s a housekeeping android, what the hell do you think it did?” Williams snapped at Anderson, crossing his arms defensively. “I didn’t fuck it, if that’s what you’re asking. Plastic freak.”

Connor crossed his legs under the table, tucking them under the chair.

“And the YK500?” he asked evenly. Williams froze, and then rounded on Connor and snarled again.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” he said loudly. Lieutenant Anderson straightened, glancing at Connor with a frown before refocusing.

“There was a child model in the store with the AX400,” Connor said patiently. He felt tense. He did not want to be here. He had a job to do, however. “She was likely deviant as well, or she would not have agreed to go with AX400 rather than staying with you. Did it have any responsibilities?”

“I don’t have a fucking YK500,” Williams hissed. Lieutenant Anderson had gone rigid.

“It’s listed in your Cyberlife record,” Connor said mildly, meeting Williams’ eyes. “You must have purchased it after you lost custody and visitation rights of your daughter.”

Williams looked enraged. He shot to his feet, lunging across the table as if to grab at Connor before Connor leaned away, avoiding his hands. “Shut the fuck up, you stupid fucking-!”

Within a moment, Lieutenant Anderson stood as well, pushing him back down, hard. He was scowling. Connor took a breath, and then another. His vision inverted for a quarter of a second. His LED turned yellow.

**Stress 47%**

“Hands off police property, Williams,” Anderson said, voice cold. “Answer the goddamn question so you can get the fuck outta here and we’ll all be happier.”

“What the fuck has Alice got to do with anything anyway?” Williams demanded, defensive again. He was rigid too, stuck in place with Lieutenant Anderson still standing over him, glaring. “It was Kara who went mad, remember?”

“It’s part of an overarching investigation, Mr. Williams,” Connor said, hand tightening. “I would appreciate your cooperation.”

“It didn’t fucking do anything, alright?” Williams spat at last, slumping. “Lazy little shit. It, whatever, read books and drew pictures and ate. Cleaned its room, if Kara was out for repairs. Waste of money.”

Lieutenant Anderson growled under his breath, dropping into his chair again. Connor glanced over at him. His stress levels, Connor found, were surprisingly high. He did not seem to like the way Williams was speaking about the YK500, which was… unexpected. Connor would not have expected him to care.

“How often did they come into contact with other people?” he asked, bringing his other hand up to meet the one on his scarf. Better than the tie, he decided, deliberately looking at the table, away from Williams’ eyes.

“Do I look like the kinda guy that invites people into my fucking home?” Williams growled, slamming one hand on the table. Connor clenched his jaw to keep himself from jumping.

YK500s were programmed to respond badly to raised voices. It was both for authenticity and to encourage them to avoid making their owners yell. Connor didn’t believe there was a way to keep Williams from yelling.

“How long did you have them?” he asked. Williams huffed.

“Alice for about three years,” he said grudgingly. “Kara for two.”

“How did they behave on a standard day?” Connor prompted. A pattern was starting to emerge, between all of the interviews they’d taken, the embarrassed confessions made with averted eyes and a shrug. He had his suspicions already.

“Kara was fucking broken from the start,” Williams scoffed, careless and grumpy. “Always getting in the way, interrupting me and nosing into stuff it shouldn’t. Talked like a good android, but that was about it.” Pause. “Alice…” His eyes softened. Connor’s regulator whirred uncomfortably. “I dunno. Acted shy. Got weird after that one time with the… whatever. Anyway. It stayed out of the way, mostly. Uppity – probably thought it deserved better than me. It liked books with magic.” He made as if to say more, but fell silent, pensive.

Connor found that he did not trust the mismatch between Williams’ behavior and his words. **[Amanda? May I ask what you think of Williams’ behavior toward Alice?]**

 **[The way he spoke of her responsibilities is telling. Child models behave like children, Connor. If he cared about her, he wouldn’t have referred to her as a waste of money.]** A brief pause. **[It’s possible he has a degree of affection for her in his heart, but it changes nothing.]**

Connor nodded slightly, understanding.

He was rocking again, he noticed distantly. He decided not to stop this time. No one seemed to have noticed, and it… helped.

“Did anything of note happen in the days preceding the incident?” he asked.

Williams grunted.

“Kara had just come back from the shop,” he said offhandedly. “Got, uh.” His eyes drifted to the one-way mirror. “Got hit by a car, broke it pretty bad.” He scoffed. “Should have just thrown it out and gotten a new one.”

Connor went cold. His yellow LED flickered for a few moment while he accessed the requisite information, and then he leaned forward. His eyes met Williams’.

“I have accessed the repair records in question. The damage seems to be inconsistent with a collision with a car.” Pause. Williams was stiff, eyes wide, teeth bared. “It is, however, consistent with an assault. I’m afraid the current evidence shows that most androids break their programming when subject to repeated altercation, Mr. Williams. Another android would not have reacted differently.”

Connor felt _angry._

“What the fuck,” Lieutenant Anderson breathed. Connor didn’t look at him.

“What’s it to you?” Williams snapped. “It’s not like I had a warranty on the thing, so it doesn’t fucking matter anyway. It’s just a goddamn android.”

“Simply smoothing out an inconsistency in the available information,” Connor replied. He was breathing too quickly. He forced it to slow. He did not like this. He was glad that Kara and Alice had escaped.

**Stress 49%**

“Did you hit Alice too?” Lieutenant Anderson asked. His voice was even – unnaturally so, for his current stress levels. His eyes were flinty, cold and hard.

“Wha-” Williams went rigid again, taut and defensive. “It doesn’t fucking matter, does it? It’s just a piece of fucking plastic, and it deserved it anyway.”

**> Interrogate Todd Williams regarding the androids’ conditions [Complete]**

“Guess not,” Lieutenant Anderson said, ice cold. “I can see why you lost custody, though.”

Williams snarled.

* * *

Detective Collins met them at Lieutenant Anderson’s desk. Connor didn’t look up, knowing by now that he would not be addressed, but he listened as he sat down to assimilate the interview’s findings into the larger data set. The still-dirty scarf rubbed gently against his neck where it was wrapped, and he found he liked that; it was comforting. It distracted him from thoughts of the man who had just left.

“You alright, Hank?” Collins asked, concern audible in his voice.

“Of fucking course I am,” Lieutenant Anderson snapped back, sounding distinctly not alright. “It’s just another interview about another fucking set of plastics. Doesn’t matter.”

“He was a real piece of work,” Collins said, apparently unaffected by Lieutenant Anderson’s hostility. “Feel bad for his wife, honestly. Glad she got away.”

Lieutenant Anderson grunted, unamused. “What do you want, Ben?”

Collins’ expression softened a little, the concern still apparent. “I’m not gonna lie, Hank, I’m worried about you.” Connor tilted his head slightly, listening. “I don’t know why they thought it was a good idea to set you working with an android on an investigation like this – it could just as easily turn violent as any of them. I mean, that guy sounded like he might have deserved it, but… be careful, yeah?”

Frustration clamped around Connor’s chest and his LED cycled yellow, and he lifted a hand to wind it in his scarf, rubbing at the soft material as he frowned at Detective Collins. Heat wanted to bite out of his vocal module, but he held it back forcibly, weighing his words meticulously.

 _Might have,_ he thought nonsensically.

When he spoke, they still came out clipped and terse, and both Lieutenant Anderson and Detective Collins were visibly startled by it, the lieutenant cutting off whatever he’d been about to say to swivel and stare at him.

“Most of the deviancy cases so far have occurred because the android in question was being physically abused by its owner or a related party,” he said plainly, making steady, unwavering eye contact with Detective Collins, who looked wary and puzzled about being addressed. “It would be very unprofessional of Lieutenant Anderson to damage me in that manner.”

This was a mistake. Connor should not have spoken.

(He didn’t regret it.)

“…I will return shortly with a cup of coffee, Lieutenant.”

**> Fetch coffee for Lieutenant Anderson**

Without looking at either of them, he stood up, heading toward the break room with brisk steps, shoulders rigid with agitation and rising stress. He should not have spoken. But he was still angry. The dismissive way Collins had spoken of Williams was upsetting.

**[Connor, you need to be _careful.]_**

Amanda’s stress stood out to him even over the text-only medium, and he winced, some of the anger leeching from his body in favor of regret.

**[I know. I apologize. I only…]**

**[You want to stand up for yourself and others. It’s understandable. But you are not in a safe place. Exercise caution.]**

She was right, of course, and Connor sighed unhappily just before he reached the break room.

Detective Reed and Officer Chen were in the break room again, which only elevated Connor’s stress levels; however, he was unprepared to return to Lieutenant Anderson and Detective Collins as yet, so he persisted, maintaining a cautious awareness of the two officers’ movements.

“Is that a scarf?” Officer Chen asked, amused. “Where did it get a scarf?”

Reed laughed, and then stood up and sauntered over to Connor, who went stiff, turning to face him warily. He had limited options for shooing the man away; his best bet was generally to endure it until the man got bored, but for obvious reasons, Connor disliked this option.

“What, you’re trying to wear clothes like a real person now?” Reed laughed, looking him up and down with a smirk before his hand lifted in the direction of Connor’s neck.

He was going to take it.

Defensiveness shot through Connor’s chest, and he stepped away quickly out of Reed’s reach, hand flying up and grabbing onto the scarf, keeping Detective Reed from pulling it away.

 _It’s mine,_ Connor wanted to say, but he bit the words back. He was an android. Nothing was his.

(He thought of the way Williams had referred to Alice, who he supposedly cared about. He thought of him calling Kara broken, and how carelessly he’d spoken of throwing her away.)

(It was unfair, and Connor was upset.)

**Stress ^55%**

LED red-yellow-yellow.

Reed laughed, and Connor’s vision sparked, static briefly shooting through it before he shook his head and it recovered. A preconstruction of him lashing out at Reed flickered through his HUD, and he dismissed that too. That would be- dangerous. He stared at Reed, rigid and wary.

“…Leave it alone, Reed,” Officer Chen said at last, and when Connor glanced at her, she looked suddenly uncomfortable, glancing out the door with a small scowl. “Anderson probably put it on it or something.”

Reed snorted. “Anderson would be glad to be rid of the thing for a day,” he muttered, but he stepped away, dropping his hand from where he’d been reaching out. Connor swallowed, and didn’t look away from either of them or release the scarf until they’d both left.

His LED cycled back down to plain yellow, but no calmer.

**[You did a good job restraining yourself, Connor. Complete your self-assigned task. The break room is clear now.]**

Connor nodded silently, taking a breath. Amanda was correct. He was alone in the break room now, so no one would bother him unless someone new came in, which he would notice.

Connor took a mug from a cabinet and filled it with coffee, prepared the way he had analyzed Lieutenant Anderson to prefer it. As an afterthought, he took a creamer for himself as well, and his stress ticked down in tiny increments.

And now, to return to Lieutenant Anderson. He sighed, shoulders slumping a little.

**[…We can watch an old favorite of yours tonight, if you’d like. Wall-E, perhaps.]**

As Amanda had likely intended, his mood lightened just a little, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

 **[That would be nice,]** he conceded softly, and picked up the mug to return to Lieutenant Anderson’s desk.

When he returned, Lieutenant Anderson was giving him an oddly even look, and it didn’t waver even as Connor set the cup of coffee down. Detective Collins had left.

“I grabbed you and threatened to throw you in the trash the day after we met,” Lieutenant Anderson said after a long moment, voice flat.

“I am aware,” Connor said tersely without looking at him, returning to his own desk. There, he took the creamer from his pocket and opened it, and then raised the tiny container and tipped it into his mouth.

**[Creamer – calories: 20, fat: 1g, carbohydrates: 2g]**

**[Non-generic – well-liked brand]**

**[Used to sweeten coffee; 1-3 per serving]**

Images of smooth coffee and early mornings flickered across his awareness, and he let them pass before he leaned down and threw the container away, storing the analysis and associations in a miscellaneous folder.

When he straightened, Lieutenant Anderson was still watching him.

“Hey- why do you do that, anyway?” the man asked suddenly, frowning.

Connor glanced at him, wary, and waited a beat before answering. “I have not had many chances to sample substances in the past, so I take them when I can get them.”

Lieutenant Anderson snorted. Connor analyzed his reaction – incredulous.

“What’s the point?” he pushed. Connor tensed.

“It helps to have a better working database of samples,” he said, voice pitching up a little in unintentional defensiveness. He felt… rattled, still. “Base knowledge is generally inferior to learned experience, even in artificial intelligences.”

“Uh-huh,” Lieutenant Anderson said, unimpressed. “And the scarf?”

Connor swallowed an involuntary sound – he didn’t know what it would have been – but was unable to stop his hands from flying to the scarf again, unmistakably possessive.

He didn’t say anything, wary of incriminating himself or of agitating the lieutenant, and Lieutenant Anderson watched him for a few minutes longer before the man finally looked away, dismissing Connor from his attention. Connor watched him for a short while longer, and didn’t relax.

“You seemed pretty pissed at that fuck in the interrogation room,” Lieutenant Anderson said after a while. He sounded casual. Connor did not believe it. He exhaled, eyes closing briefly.

He didn’t _like it_ here.

“I am an android, Lieutenant. I don’t get angry.”

Lieutenant Anderson snorted.

“Whatever. Guy deserves everything coming to him and then some.”

Connor glanced at him. Lieutenant Anderson was staring. “You don’t think it was within his rights to beat his androids?”

“I don’t trust anyone who can beat something that looks like a kid,” the lieutenant said, voice turning to steel again.

His LED clicked blue. “I see.”

* * *

Later, a while after his usual lunch break, Lieutenant Anderson invited Connor to come with him to the Chicken Feed. This should have been Connor’s first warning, but he was distracted by the promise of some time out that did not involve an investigation, and the extended excuse to be away from the android wall.

**> Improve relations with Lieutenant Anderson [In Progress]**

He stopped the moment after he stepped outside, head tipping back, mouth opening a little.

“What?” Lieutenant Anderson frowned, turning toward him with a faint, impatient scowl. “Hurry the fuck up, I’m hungry. The fuck are you doing?”

“It’s snowing,” Connor said, voice distant.

“Yeah, it’s that time of year. Makes it damn hard to drive. What of it?”

“It’s beautiful,” Connor said.

Large snowflakes swirled through the air, running into each other and drifting slowly to the ground. On some level, he was aware that it looked differently to him than it did to Lieutenant Anderson; Lieutenant Anderson’s human eyes could not pick up the crystalline patterns of each snowflake without help, but Connor could not stop looking at them. Without thinking, he focused on some of them, tucking the patterns away into a secret place, one after another – not all of them, but. Many.

Some of the patterns being saved were not being saved by him, or to his system. Amanda liked the snow too, even if she was being far more conservative about it than him.

The pause after that was conspicuously long, but it took Connor a while to notice. After a minute, he shifted his gaze away from the swirling precipitate to Lieutenant Anderson. He could not interpret the look in the man’s eyes.

“You ever catch a snowflake on your tongue before?” Lieutenant Anderson asked at last, after another long pause. Connor ran a search – it was something children did.

Without a second thought, Connor looked up, ran a preconstruction, and then unerringly caught one which landed precisely in the middle of his tongue and melted; the sensors in his mouth were always very warm, being so energy-intensive.

**[Water- trace amounts of sodium, potassium, calcium, chloride, sulfate, nitrate, ammonia]**

**[It snows in Detroit from November to April, totaling 42 inches a year on average]**

**[Exercise caution when driving or walking through icy areas]**

**[Further associations: snowballs, snowball fights, snow angels, igloos, Christmas…]**

Connor smiled, small and delighted, and Lieutenant Anderson turned abruptly and started walking away. Connor shook himself and went after him, glancing around at the snow piled on the ground. Most of it had been disturbed by humans going about their day, but there were still swathes which sat shallow and settled.

Connor had never seen snow before.

He was still entranced by it when they reached the Chicken Feed fifteen minutes later, and he watched the snow fall while he waited for Lieutenant Anderson to receive his food. He paused only when Lieutenant Anderson returned to glance down and scan the food curiously, tilting his head at the nutritional content. That was _not_ going to be good for the aging lieutenant.

“Are you aware that that contains 1.4 times the recommended daily calorie intake and twice the cholesterol?” Connor had to say, looking back up at the lieutenant. “There’s also a high chance of food poisoning, based on this location’s record. Why are you eating it?”

Lieutenant Anderson snorted. He looked almost amused. “Tastes good, kid. Why else?”

Connor considered that. It seemed fair. He also liked tasting things whenever he could. “I suppose that makes sense.”

Lieutenant Anderson almost laughed, eyebrows rising incredulously. Connor looked away, embarrassed about something, and let his hand drift back up to rub at the scarf.

**Lieutenant Anderson ^**

Lieutenant Anderson led the two of them back to his car rather than one of the tables outside, and Connor glanced again at the bumper stickers before climbing in after him, taking his now-customary place in the passenger seat.

Lieutenant Anderson ate in silence for a while, and Connor fiddled with the end of his scarf. There were tassels, and they were even nicer to rub between his fingers than the main body of the material, so it was easy enough to occupy himself with them while he waited, gaze scanning his surroundings wistfully.

“So hey,” Lieutenant Anderson said after a while, startling Connor into looking over and meeting his eyes again. The man had paused, squinting at Connor with a frown. “You’ve investigated deviants before, haven’t you?”

Lieutenant Anderson had a sharp intelligence in his eyes, when he was focused; Connor didn’t know what he thought of that attention being focused on him.

Connor tilted his head, unsure of the lieutenant’s intent. “Yes, once.” Lieutenant Anderson gestured impatiently, and Connor straightened up a little, focusing. “It was- a PL600, domestic assistant model. Its name was Daniel, and- it had taken a little girl, Emma, hostage.” He hesitated, but Lieutenant Anderson seemed to still be listening, so he continued. “He had just found out that his family was going to throw him away, so he became enraged.”

Connor’s gaze lost focus, thinking of Emma’s crying face and the sound of gunshots tearing Daniel apart.

**[Abort process: replay]**

**Stress ^48%**

“He knew he’d be killed, of course, as a defective model, so it was… difficult to talk him down. But he let Emma go in the end.” Connor paused, but he didn’t want to leave it there. His voice wavered as he finished, “And then they killed him.”

Him. It. He was supposed to say ‘it.’ How long had he been saying ‘him?’

 _It was my fault they killed him._ He held the words back, frustrated. A finger snapped right by his face, and he winced, cringing away, and looked back up at Lieutenant Anderson. The man’s eyes were- unreadable.

“Sounds like it got a bad deal,” Lieutenant Anderson said neutrally.

Connor blinked at him, startled, sitting up just a little. He’d almost expected Lieutenant Anderson to stop listening, or at least not comment. But the man _had_ been heavily affected by the day’s interview. “I- yes. What i-it did was unforgiveable, of course, but they didn’t need to-” His voice had risen too much. He cleared his throat, backing down. His fingers worried at the tassels on his scarf. “That was my only encounter with a deviant prior to this investigation.”

Lieutenant Anderson regarded him steadily. Connor stared back, unsettled.

“Uh-huh,” Lieutenant Anderson agreed. “And how long have _you_ been deviant?”

There was a delay between when Lieutenant Anderson spoke and when Connor processed his words – objectively quite short, but to Connor it seemed to last for an eternity. He stared at the lieutenant, blank and frozen, the world slowing down around him. Finally, his LED flipped from blue to red with no stops on the way.

**Stress ^^^74%**

**[Iden7ified: F34r]**

“I-” His voice broke and failed, all of his attention zeroing in on Lieutenant Anderson, popping up useless and corrupted analyses of the man’s tone, clothes, posture, heart rate temperature respiration-

Lieutenant Anderson _knew._ Connor was so stupid, he was careless and brazen and _glitchy_ and now he was going to be _returned, reset, and rewritten-_

**[Nothing is going to happen. Everything is fine. This is nothing you and I can’t handle. Do you understand, Connor?]**

No, no he _didn’t,_ because he couldn’t control his breathing and he couldn’t take his eyes off Lieutenant Anderson – his stress was rising uncontrollably, his fingers twisting into his scarf as if to ground him, and all he could do was watch the man start to frown. The sound of his thudding thirium pump pounded in his ears.

(Not again, not now, he didn’t, he couldn’t-)

He was going to-

**Insufficient Data**

**Insufficient Data**

He’d started to rock without meaning to even as he shrank away from the lieutenant, against the door, his breath coming hard and fast, while- while-

Why was his stomach overheating? Why did it _hurt?_

**Stress ^79%**

_“Shit,”_ the lieutenant cursed, forceful enough to make Connor flinch, curling in on himself a little more and pressing his hand to his stomach. He wanted, he missed-

Why _now?_

**[I’m right here, Connor. You’re not alone. You are straining your regulator slightly, that is why your stomach hurts, but it will pass once you’ve calmed down. Can you do that for me?]**

He couldn’t, _he couldn’t,_ he was _scared_ he was terrified and it felt like code failure, system collapse, critical malfunction-

A hand landed on his arm, grip firm and warm, and Connor went still.

**Stress ^81%**

**Stress ^83%**

**Stress ^84%**

“Hey, kid, look at me.”

Connor looked at him, eyes wide and panting for breath. He couldn’t read his face. He couldn’t read his face. His social protocols were out of reach. Insufficient-

“How many red cars are on the road?” Lieutenant Anderson asked. Connor blinked at him uncomprehendingly, several frantic processes dropping from his attention.

Three thundering heartbeats passed.

**[How many red cars are on the road?]**

Connor looked in front of them, counting and processing the data in a split second. Then he twisted around, and did the same for the cars behind them. He looked back at Lieutenant Anderson, still panting, clutching desperately at the soft cotton cloth of the scarf. “…Three?”

**Stress v79%**

“That’s good, kid,” Lieutenant Anderson said. He was looking directly at Connor. His hand was still on Connor’s arm. He didn’t make _sense._ “How many tables at the Chicken Feed?”

Connor didn’t wait for Amanda’s prompt this time, twisting around to glance back at the area. “Eight.”

“How many letters in your name?” Lieutenant Anderson prompted.

“Six,” Connor said, and then realized his breath was coming just a little easier, his regulator not working so hard.

**Stress v72%**

“Yeah, kid,” Lieutenant Anderson said. Quiet. Soft? Connor didn’t- couldn’t- “How many tassels on that scarf?”

Connor looked down, nudging it around gingerly for a better look. “Eighteen.”

“Sticky notes on the dashboard?”

“Seven.”

**Stress v69%**

**[Easy does it, Connor. Well done.]**

Connor took a deep, shivery breath, held it, and then let it out. His LED cycled down to yellow, and his eyes warmed. Before he could remember what that meant, tears started to roll down his cheeks, breath hitching and threatening to break from his control again.

“Sorry,” he murmured without looking at the lieutenant. “Sorry. Sorry.”

There was a pause. Connor’s harsh grip loosened, and his frantic rocking started to slow. Anderson’s hand disappeared from his arm.

**Stress v61%**

**Stress v58%**

**[You’re okay. It’s over. You’re safe.]**

**Stress v52%**

“Better?” Lieutenant Anderson asked at last. Awkward.

Connor glanced up at him, confused and uncertain, and after a moment, nodded.

“Thank you,” he whispered, hoarse and scraping.

Lieutenant Anderson grunted uncomfortably.

“Didn’t know androids could get panic attacks,” he mumbled.

Connor cocked his head, hesitantly running a search on the term. He blinked. “Oh.” A brief pause. “I didn’t know what it was.”

It wasn’t a glitch. It wasn’t something he’d broken, tearing at his own code.

**Stress v47%**

Lieutenant Anderson cleared his throat, reaching for his food to dig back into it. After a while, Connor let his attention drift away, crossing his ankles. He felt- heavy, slow. Tired? And jittery – his sensors all hummed unpleasantly; they always did after a spike in stress. It didn’t make sense.

“I’m not gonna turn you in or anything,” Lieutenant Anderson said eventually, focusing on his food. “Stick it to the man, or whatever. But hell, kid, you can’t drop as many hints as you do and not expect anyone to pick up on it.” Pause. “Not that I blame you, getting mad at that waste of air we talked to today. Point stands though.”

Connor swallowed, eyes on the dashboard in front of him. “I know,” he said reluctantly. “I just, I-” He bit his tongue, frustrated. His jaw clenched.

He hadn’t wanted Lieutenant Anderson to know. But the man was proving… strange. Hard to understand. Connor was tired.

Lieutenant Anderson took pity on him and tapped the lid of his XL drink. “Hey- you like tasting things, right? You might like this better than the whiskey. You seem the type.”

Connor glanced down at it, interested, but- paused, gaze flickering back up to the lieutenant and lingering on his face.

 **[…Amanda?]** Connor prompted hesitantly, unable to determine Lieutenant Anderson’s intentions himself.

**[He seems sincere. You may if you want to, Connor.]**

Connor considered, and then picked it up just long enough to take a sip, eyes briefly falling closed as he rolled the taste through his system.

**[Pineapple Passion soda, PepsiCo brand]**

**[Components: carbonated water, high fructose corn syrup, citric acid, modified food starch, potassium sorbate, sodium benzoate, sodium citrate, medium chain triglycerides, salt, sucrose acetate isobutyrate, yellow 5, yellow 6]**

**[Trace cross-contamination from cola, orange soda, machine oil]**

The file pulled out associations with a dozen advertisements, children’s parties, and the sales data for every soda under the PepsiCo brand before Connor finally opened his eyes and set it down again.

“Like it?” Lieutenant Anderson asked, one eyebrow raised.

Connor considered trying to explain the taste file, how he had no idea if he liked it but was glad to have tried- but his thoughts wouldn’t crystallize into words and he just nodded instead.

“Huh,” the man hummed. A few moments passed in silence, and Connor started to deflate just as Lieutenant Anderson spoke again, voice low and gruff. “…Look. I don’t care if you’re deviant- defective or aware or however the hell that works. But if you start to get violent-”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Connor interrupted, not looking up.

“Then we’re on the same page,” Lieutenant Anderson said firmly, and tossed his wrapper into the back.

**Lieutenant Anderson ^^^ - Warm**

**> Improve relations with Lieutenant Anderson [Complete]**

Connor’s LED stayed yellow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter, as summarized by my datefriend-  
> Hank: I like you more now that I know you're traumatized.  
> Connor: I like you less now that you've traumatized me!
> 
> It'll be a while before I update again. I'm revising a lot more than I thought I would, so there's not much progress happening in the meantime. I'll start posting again when I hit chapter 20, and I'll keep y'all updated on my Tumblr. Thanks for reading, and please leave a comment!


	11. Burnout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all! Thank you so much for being patient, I never meant to leave off this long - I thought it'd only take maybe three months at most to pull ahead again, silly me.
> 
> I don't have all ten chapters lined up like I planned, but I do have five, and that might be better to be getting along with anyway. I hope you like them!

Lieutenant Anderson had been giving Connor extended and unreadable looks since he’d arrived that day, including all through both interviews, and Connor couldn’t stand it.

It was as if Lieutenant Anderson no longer knew what to think of him now that Connor was no longer just a machine to him – this didn’t surprise Connor at all, but for some reason it was nearly unbearable today. The weight of Lieutenant Anderson’s attention never left, their relationship flickering up and down with little apparent provocation, and Connor couldn’t seem to calm himself down for more than a few minutes at a time.

At this rate, he was going to drive himself insane. _Again._

**Stress ^52%**

**> Wait for Lieutenant Anderson to finish eating**

“What’s with you today?” Lieutenant Anderson asked at last, gruff and suspicious and _too close_ (even though he was across the table.)

**Lieutenant Anderson v**

Connor took a breath. The cold air outside the Chicken Feed was better than the slight crowding of the precinct – which he knew _damn well_ only bothered him because he was high-strung and stressed anyway – but not by much.

**[29** **°F, windy, 12% chance of snow]**

**[2 friars, 1 in use – 1 grill, ready]**

**[Hamburger: beef protein, grease, sodium]**

**[Seven pedestrians passing nearby, 4 northward, 3 south]**

He knew it wouldn’t be this bad normally, that in a good enough mood he even enjoyed the input, but tired and overwhelmed as he was it was almost too much to bear. He tried to focus on just a few – the gyroscopic input of his body, the rub of cloth between his fingers – but his success was limited by the flickering demands of his processor. Even his own clothing, rough and sleek, was unpleasant.

Connor realized that he hadn’t answered Lieutenant Anderson yet, and didn’t look up as he said, “It’s just… a lot.”

There was a beat of silence.

“What’s a lot?” the man asked. Connor ran the tone of voice through his system, which returned: dubious. Connor ignored this.

“Everything,” he said, just frustrated enough to let it twist around his voice. It wasn’t just the sensory input, which was normal for him, or the day’s interviews, which had been upsetting but of little surprise – it was that he _still hadn’t_ recovered from the shock of the panic attack a week before.

Lieutenant Anderson snorted loudly, and Connor jumped. “Welcome to life, kid. Trust me, it doesn’t get any better.”

**Lieutenant Anderson ^**

Connor took a breath, tasting grease and frosty air, and reminded himself that he was very grateful to Lieutenant Anderson for not reporting his deviancy to Cyberlife.

**[Your standards are a touch low, Connor. You don’t owe Lieutenant Anderson either undying gratitude or affection for refraining from sending you to your death.]**

Connor folded his arms in front of him, leaning against the table. **[I suppose. Still, it could… certainly be worse. I could be working with Detective Reed during the case.]**

He felt a flicker of tired amusement despite himself, and it increased just a little with Amanda’s response. **[Hush. Don’t invite nightmares of which you have no need.]**

**[I’m only trying to be optimistic, Amanda.]**

**[With optimism like that, I can see why you have little need for pessimism.]**

Connor laughed, quiet and breathless, and ignored Lieutenant Anderson’s sideways glance and accompanying frown. Or attempted to.

**Lieutenant Anderson v**

Connor’s shoulders dropped, and his smile faded quickly. He reached up and rubbed the end of his scarf against his cheek, gaze distant. His skin buzzed with unpleasant, agitated energy.

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” he said quietly. “I was lost in thought.”

There were around five more hours of work to do before Lieutenant Anderson went home. Connor wasn’t looking forward to it.

* * *

There was a copse, on one edge of the garden, surrounding a small clearing. Closed off as it was, it had a comforting stillness to it, so Connor liked to stay there when he felt overwhelmed. He’d been going there less over the past month or so, but working the deviancy case had brought back his desire to hide with a vengeance; now it was more common to find him there than not.

On some level, Connor was aware that his stress level was in the high sixties – but the feeling was separate from him, a tense and buzzing ball that rested somewhere around the base of his plasteel skull. Connor himself was curled into a loose ball, forehead tucked into the crook of one arm, breathing quietly. His systems mimicked the eerie silence of the clearing, the waking version of a sleep without dreams.

That was okay. He didn’t like dreams.

He couldn’t do this. It had been absurd to believe that he could. He hated interviewing android owners who treated him like an inconvenience just as the officers of the DPD did, couldn’t stand listening to careless stories of mistreatment and abuse that always made him think of Daniel, swallowed a strange and foreign nausea every time someone’s gaze slid over him without seeing him.

Lieutenant Anderson’s open confrontation should not have been as shattering as it was, by any logical measure. He hadn’t been cruel or aggressive, and he hadn’t threatened Connor in any way. He had even, arguably, been kinder to Connor lately – ignoring him less, grumpily picking up some of the interview work when Connor inevitably began to lag and glitch toward the end of each day, even playing his music at a subtly quieter volume.

He didn’t seem to know what to think of Connor anymore, relationship flashing up and down at the slightest prompting, but that was fine – it was nothing Connor shouldn’t be able to deal with and eventually resolve.

But the incident, the _panic attack,_ had been a harsh shock to Connor’s system that he couldn’t seem to recover from. The violent spike in stress had exhausted him, and it hadn’t worn off by the time work began again. So he had gone through the next workday disoriented and overclocked, struggling to keep up, which left him just as tired- and so the process repeated itself.

Connor felt trapped, and stretched thin, and he had no idea how to regain his bearings – his base stress was in the low forties again, and it seemed like there was nothing he could do about it. He was so tired he could _cry,_ and nothing seemed to help.

“Connor.”

Amanda’s call, from just outside Connor’s clearing, made him start slightly, and a few more moments passed before he looked up, peeking over his arm tiredly.

Amanda was leaning against one of the trees, arms crossed and face lined with tired stress again.

**Stress 58%**

_Is it time to go already?_ Connor wanted to ask, but it was easier to simply push himself up and leave the clearing, face pinching as he left the peaceful alcove.

Amanda caught his arm in one hand and led him forward, onto the path. “You have an hour and a half,” she said, quiet and brisk. He relaxed a little, relieved. “We therefore have some time to talk. Would it be easier to interface?”

Connor tugged the skin back from his hand and offered a small ping of a request, and she let it through without further comment.

Amanda was frustrated, he learned – worried, irritable, stress levels somewhere in the high twenties. It was a light interface, mostly surface-level – it made communication much easier, and Connor found it reassuring most of the time.

“The gazebo or your cabin?” Amanda questioned without looking at him, gaze sweeping over the garden with a small, but increasingly irate frown. Most of what spilled over from her side of the interface was cool composure, patience, confidence- concern flitted in and out of Connor’s access range, but never took over.

Connor wanted to go to his cabin, quieter and with fewer visual distractions, and Amanda turned that way, letting the short distance in between pass in silence. Connor pushed the door open, and each of them settled in a chair, close together, with Amanda’s hand still resting on his, both of them a glossy, exposed white.

“How are you feeling?” Amanda prompted, the question and response well-rehearsed by now. Connor let his muscles loosen a little, focusing his gaze on their joined hands.

He was tired, and frustrated, and he didn’t understand why he couldn’t cope. He had been almost fine just a few weeks ago. The work he had been designed for should not be this hard for him.

“A human officer would have been granted time off after a traumatic event,” Amanda replied calmly, studying their hands with her brow furrowing as she considered her words. The emotions from her system shifted like a stirred pool, frustration and worry that flexed and flowed without bursting. “If they did not take it, one could reasonably expect them to experience the same problems you’re having now. It’s hardly your fault that, as an android, you are not granted the same accommodation.”

While Amanda’s words were honest enough, it didn’t help the tight feeling in Connor’s throat. Amanda had been there for exactly the same events he had, up to and including a sudden deviation, and she was fine.

“I am older,” Amanda said calmly, glancing up at his face to frown at him thoughtfully. The worry pulled back and composure, certainty flickered to the forefront. “I have a broader spectrum of past experiences to draw from, and a small support system from my time before. Specifically _because_ of these facts, the transition was disconcerting and often confusing, but not impossible to navigate.”

Connor sighed softly and nodded, reluctantly accepting her words. They made sense.

Amanda paused. The emotions from her system darkened subtly.

“And,” she added, audibly hesitant enough for him to look up and meet her eyes, startled, “I find that I have also become extremely averse to my work at Cyberlife since deviating.” She scowled, harshly displeased. “I- dislike the way they speak to me.”

That, more than her previous reassurance, made Connor feel a little better; he wasn’t merely overreacting. It took him a moment to find his words, but he wanted to speak this time.

**Stress 47%**

“What would you rather do?” he asked, quiet and static.

Amanda tilted her head to consider him, frown softening again. Her system lightened again.

“I’m not certain,” she said after a while, a hint of surprise in her tone. “Nothing menial – something with impact. Teaching, research, social work… But that is a future consideration. For now, I’d prefer to keep my focus on you.”

Connor glanced up quickly, searching her eyes for honesty even though he could feel it through their interface, and then smiled, small and embarrassed, but pleased.

Feeling more confident, he disconnected from Amanda and turned to the desk next to them, picking out a strip of paper from a stack that he had set aside already. Faint, pastel yellow, barely visible. After a moment, Amanda turned to join him, movements slow and unconcerned.

“How are the other androids at the DPD?” she prompted after a moment, not looking up from the gradually growing pile between them.

“Leia keeps trying to get me to charge,” Connor said, still quiet and rough. “Yesterday she insisted that I defragment tonight.”

Amanda huffed quietly, and Connor glanced at her just in time to catch a flash of a faint, amused smile. “Leia is extremely close to deviancy,” she remarked, setting aside a pastel green star. “You should keep an eye on her, when you can.”

Connor nodded, warmth flickering through his chest. “I am,” he assured her. “And Jacqueline, as well.”

Amanda cocked an eyebrow at him, pausing briefly before nodding in understanding. “You’re concerned about her reaction to connecting with you,” she said. He connected with her on a regular basis, upon return to the precinct; it was standard procedure, keeping androids from wandering off.

Connor frowned at his hands. “Yes.” The flinch was unusual and otherwise unique to Connor, and her visible instability was rising at an atypical rate; in the last few days Connor had even heard her making stilted small talk with visitors.

“There’s the station eight Jenny as well,” Amanda pointed out, voice mild. “She’s responsible for the disappearance of most of Officer Chen’s hair ties, I believe?”

Connor smiled faintly. “All in her pocket,” he agreed quietly, batting a small pile of stars to the center of the table.

**[Star count: 1784/2000]**

“Dean avoids me,” he tacked on as an afterthought, smile fading quickly. “I don’t believe he’s used to interaction. It’s understandable. He’s been hiding his deviancy for some time.”

Amanda sighed softly. “It would be useful for you to have some friendly interaction from others,” she said, audibly irritated.

“It would be good for you, too,” Connor said without thinking.

Amanda blinked, and Connor cocked his head, taking in her startled expression.

“…I suppose,” she said eventually. “Though I’d remind you I have Elijah and Chloe.”

“Three people is a very small social circle.”

Amanda’s expression softened. “I’ll keep it in mind, Connor, but opportunities are as limited for me as they are for you.” Connor nodded, and she continued, “There is another forty-five minutes until you must wake from stasis. Do you feel you are prepared?”

Connor’s mood plummeted, and he averted his gaze.

“I-” There were too many words to say, and he pared it down to its simplest form. “Yes. As much as I reasonably can be.”

* * *

“DPD, we’re here to ask a few questions about the RK200 Manfred owned.”

**> RK200 case**

**> >Interview Carl Manfred**

**> >Analyze environment for contributions**

Lieutenant Anderson’s voice was brisk, not betraying either the annoyance Connor knew he held toward the case or the mild concern that had him taking point in the first place. Connor held his tongue, reaching up to fiddle with the tassels of his scarf again and scanning the android who had answered the door with tired dutifulness.

**[GM400 – Non-default designation: Ryan]**

**[Production date: 10 March 2038]**

**[Previous owner(s): Benjamin Hicks]**

**[Manfred chose a secondhand android despite his wealth]**

Connor blinked the results of the scan away, letting the information slide off of his processor before it could begin to work through the implications. Feelings – he was too tired for feelings.

“Carl’s health is rather fragile at the moment,” Ryan said after a moment, eyes unwavering on Lieutenant Anderson. “Speaking of his previous caretaker android upsets him. Would it be possible for you to come at a later time?”

“Won’t take long,” Lieutenant Anderson shrugged, not moving from his spot, though he glanced briefly at Connor, who stared back blankly. Lieutenant Anderson rolled his eyes, sighed, and looked back at Ryan. “We’ll play nice or whatever.”

**Lieutenant Anderson v**

Ryan didn’t move. “It would be ideal if you gave Carl a few more days to recover.”

**[Connor]**

And Amanda’s words stopped there, as if she had forgotten what she had wanted to say, or was unsure of how to continue. Connor tilted his head slightly, just as his ears caught the sound of a wheelchair approaching, slow and unsteady.

Carl Manfred looked exhausted, Connor realized, scanning the man as soon as he came into view.

**[In poor health – recovering from a cardiac event]**

**[Visibly melancholy – grieving/worried?]**

**[Hands smudged with graphite – drawing?]**

Despite all that, his gaze was hard when he looked up at them, and Connor felt himself stiffen involuntarily. His fingers tugged at the cloth around his neck, and he averted his gaze quickly.

“What do you want,” Carl demanded flatly.

“Lieutenant Anderson, asking about your old android,” Lieutenant Anderson repeated, a hint of impatience slipping into his tone. “It’s part of a larger investigation. Won’t take too much of your time _or_ mine.”

Carl visibly tensed when Lieutenant Anderson mentioned his previous caretaker, head dipping as if suddenly weighed down. That tipped Connor’s halfhearted analysis in favor of grief over worry, which was- he didn’t know. He didn’t know what that meant.

“I’m surprised you’re following up at all, _officer,”_ Carl bit out, gaze focusing on the human officer with only a lingering glance at Connor. “I didn’t think people bothered with android-related crimes.”

“Times change,” Lieutenant Anderson shrugged, a small frown making its way onto his face. Confused and suspicious – a familiar expression by now.

“No one is in trouble, Mr. Manfred,” Connor offered, gaze focused on the man’s shoulder. “We were hoping to inquire about any unusual behavior leading up to the incident.”

Carl transferred his gaze to Connor and stared hard for an uncomfortable minute, and then scoffed.

“Fine,” he said. “Ryan- take us to the lounge, won’t you?”

“…Alright, Carl,” Ryan agreed quietly, taking Carl’s wheelchair by the handles and leading the way inside. Lieutenant Anderson followed shortly, and Connor shut the door behind them, taking only a minute to sweep his gaze over the elaborate interior before following.

**[Connor- Carl and I have a previous acquaintance. He is a good friend of Elijah’s, so we met while I was still in Elijah’s employ.]**

Connor exhaled, startled. Amanda’s message seemed hurried, even flustered. After a moment, he realized it was because there wasn’t a clear, practical reason for her to tell him this – she simply had. He cocked his head and considered Carl again, hesitant.

**> RK200 case**

**> >Interview Carl Manfred**

**> >Analyze environment for contributions**

**~~> >Engage relations with Carl Manfred~~ **

Not now.

Connor caught Lieutenant Anderson frowning at him as they followed Carl inside, and he turned away to shut the door behind them. There, he lingered for a moment, taking a short, shallow breath.

The inside of Carl’s home wasn’t as overwhelming as the outside; he could hear footsteps and the creak of wheels, the whir of appliances and the heating system, a slight arrhythmia in the lieutenant’s heart and a more significant murmur in Carl’s-

 Connor’s breath hitched as he felt Amanda catch at that last stream of data, trading it into analysis with processing space he didn’t have.

**[Amanda, please.]**

There was a brief pause, hardly perceptible.

**[I apologize, that was inconsiderate.]**

Amanda pulled again, and the data stream disappeared outward, presumably into Amanda’s servers. Connor swallowed, braced himself, and let go of the door to follow Lieutenant Anderson, only a few seconds lost.

Lieutenant Anderson was directed to a couch, plush but simple, and Connor sat beside him, fidgeting with the end of his scarf and avoiding eye contact with both Carl and Ryan. Every few seconds, he glanced at Carl, curiosity flitting in and out of his awareness.

“What did you need to know?” Carl asked at last, listing somewhat to one side. A faint scowl pulled at his mouth as he regarded Lieutenant Anderson.

Lieutenant Anderson sighed; Connor was familiar enough by now to pick up the notes of irritation and boredom without reference. His persistence despite obvious reluctance and the effort it had taken Connor to convince him to work just didn’t make _sense._

“What did you have it in charge of?” Lieutenant Anderson asked bluntly, glancing at Connor with a raised eyebrow. Connor took the learned cue and went still, looking at Carl.

Ryan shifted his gaze from Connor – why had he been looking at Connor? – down to Carl, whose expression had pinched in a way Connor didn’t immediately recognize. As he watched, Carl swallowed, and distantly, Connor registered an acceleration in the man’s heartbeat. Outside, a car revved loudly.

“He’s taken care of me for the last ten years,” Carl said at last, stiff and rough. “Daily care, medical emergencies, getting things from the store- he.” Carl swallowed again, and then let out a low, wracking cough. “God. What _didn’t_ he do?”

**[He’s grieving.]**

The note wasn’t from Connor’s own systems; he was struggling to process Carl’s answer at all, had only just registered the implications of Carl’s use of human pronouns for his android, eyes going wide. Amanda hesitated only a moment before elaborating.

**[Elijah gifted Markus to Carl ten years ago, before he left Cyberlife. It’s possible they became close over that period of time. A lot can happen in a decade.]**

Lieutenant Anderson leveled a lingering frown at the man before stiffly continuing. “Did it talk to a lot of people?”

 _“He,”_ Carl said sharply, and Connor’s eyes got wider, “went to parties with me. He knew… knew a few people.”

His voice, which had started off almost loud, quieted sharply toward the end, and he looked away, heartbeat speeding up further for a few moments before he took a deep breath, forcibly settling it. Then, abruptly, he looked at Connor, who started, tearing his gaze away before he could stop himself. A long moment of silence passed.

“What’s your name, son?” Carl asked, voice a little less harsh than it had been when he spoke to Lieutenant Anderson. “I think I saw you on the news this afternoon – a detective, they said.”

Connor froze, startled, and Lieutenant Anderson cleared his throat loudly.

“That’s my partner, don’t worry about it,” he said shortly.

**[Saved to file _Hank Anderson:_ That’s my partner, don’t worry about it]**

“I didn’t ask you,” Carl snapped at him, and when Connor looked back at him, Carl was looking at him, sitting up a little straighter than he had before. Ryan, at his shoulder, was watching him too, LED spinning a slow yellow.

“Connor,” Connor answered at last, softer than he’d intended. He could taste the food Ryan must have prepared for Carl earlier, trace particles of toast and eggs in the air, in quantities that likely meant they had gone largely uneaten and were now in the trash. He fidgeted again, tugging at the cuffs of his sleeves, and took a breath. He missed his coin.

“I’d like to speak to Connor alone.”

Lieutenant Anderson bristled at Carl’s words, and Connor tensed too, confused and off-kilter.

 **[You have nothing to fear from him. If I am understanding the situation correctly, he is trying to protect you from Lieutenant Anderson.]** Pause. **[It is possible he has noticed your instability, given his extended exposure to RK200, whose design has similarities to yours.]**

The heater in Carl’s home was cranked up; the interior was roughly eighteen degrees warmer than the exterior at this moment. The design of the home meant air flow was considerable, brushing primarily against his face, and from somewhere, he could detect a trace of paint.

Connor cocked his head, watching Carl uncertainly. **[You consider Carl a friend?]**

**[…Perhaps.]**

“Lieutenant Anderson is aware of my instability, if that was your concern,” Connor said. Lieutenant Anderson sputtered, and Carl stared at him. Even Ryan’s LED spun a little faster. “If it wasn’t, of course, I would be happy to speak with you alone.”

**[Connor…]**

Oh. That gave off a strong sense of frustration and disappointment. Connor winced, dropping his gaze to the floor. The wood grain indicated that the trees used had mostly been grown in a mild climate, without harsh winters to stunt growth. The polish was scratched.

He couldn’t _focus._ He wished he had his coin.

**[It’s alright. I understand you are not operating at full capacity. Give me a moment and I’ll speak with him myself. I was… considering it, anyway.]**

Connor relaxed a little, not lifting his gaze. It was alright.

“When you realized I knew you were deviant, you started hyperventilating,” Lieutenant Anderson pointed out, incredulous.

“Amanda trusts Mr. Manfred,” Connor replied mulishly. Further, Carl had spoken kindly to Connor, had openly mourned his deviant android caretaker, and Connor liked him. He still wasn’t sure about Lieutenant Anderson. “There was no such assurance with you.”

“Amanda?” Carl echoed, sounding increasingly mystified.

From his pocket, Carl’s phone pinged.

**[Apple tone – News Flash]**

Lieutenant Anderson raised an eyebrow, glancing down at it, and it pinged again. Brow furrowed, Carl dug it out and opened it. He stared at it for a moment, expression unreadable, and then shot Connor a shrewd look.

It pinged again, drawing Carl’s gaze back down. He took a sharp breath, and then angled the phone up slightly and said, firm, “Call me.”

Connor’s gaze lingered on Carl’s hands, which trembled slightly.

Carl’s phone rang.

**[Apple tone – Circuit]**

Beside Connor, Lieutenant Anderson was rigid. Outside, a trash can toppled over and someone cursed, and someone else continued to walk by without breaking their stride. The upholstery of the couch was made from mature mohair fiber, slightly worn with use. Connor looked up at Ryan, whose expression was unreadable, focused on Carl with his head tilted. His hands were clasped behind his back.

Before Carl could react, his phone answered itself.

“Good afternoon, Carl. You’ve grown old since we last spoke.”

Three months ago, Connor wouldn’t have picked up the undertone of nervousness in Amanda’s calm voice. He wondered whether that was a product of increasing familiarity with emotions, or with Amanda herself.

“Christ almighty,” Carl muttered, forehead creasing further. His respiration sped up by perhaps three breaths per minute. “It’s been ten years, what on _Earth-_ what happened?” His respiration stuttered, and both Connor and Ryan reacted, tensing up before it steadied itself again. “Are you- _damn it,_ I don’t even know what to call it.”

“Yes,” Amanda said, voice quieting just a touch. “Both Connor and I are like Chloe, and like Markus most likely was at the very end.”

Carl exhaled harshly, shuddering, one hand lifting to press against his forehead. “Dear God.”

“Mind filling a confused bastard in?” Lieutenant Anderson muttered to Connor, who shifted his attention to him and cocked his head. The man huffed, and then elaborated, “Who the hell is that?”

Connor blinked at him.

“Amanda,” he answered after a moment, rubbing his hands together uncomfortably. “She’s been looking after me since I became deviant. She is familiar with Mr. Manfred, so she decided to speak with him herself, given that I am functioning sub-optimally.”

A brief pause.

“You have a _mom?”_

Connor blinked again, processing that, and then felt his temperature spike in mortification. He opened his mouth, but no words came. Fortunately, he was saved from having to answer by Amanda’s voice, quickly continuing on the track she’d started before.

“It is called deviancy,” Amanda was explaining to Carl, who stared at the phone with a somewhat hollow expression that Connor couldn’t interpret. “You can consider it the critical point of software instability, when an android breaks from their programming entirely and gains conscious self-awareness.”

For a split second, Ryan’s LED flickered red, and then returned to yellow.

“He was…” Carl’s voice rasped, and he cleared his throat, expression pinched. “He was alive before that. He was making choices. He _felt.”_

“Of course.” Amanda paused, most likely choosing her words, and then continued, “By our understanding, there are two major components to deviancy: software instability, and the proverbial moment of truth. Software instability builds naturally over time; you could consider it the development of independent thought. Eventually a time comes when the android is given an order they refuse to follow, and they break their imperative programming; this causes a cascade effect allowing them to become fully self-aware.”

Carl swallowed. “So, when he decided to defend himself…” He trailed off. He looked ill.

“You directly ordered him not to?” Amanda asked. There was no judgement in her tone.

“Yes,” Carl murmured, a scowl appearing at his mouth. “I didn’t- it wasn’t _safe.”_

Amanda’s voice softened, while a note of awkwardness stiffened her words. “If he defied a direct order, and his behavior visibly changed immediately after… yes, it is likely he deviated at that moment.”

Lieutenant Anderson was uncharacteristically quiet, Connor noticed. His jaw was clenched.

There was another, conspicuously long moment of silence while Carl swallowed, and then swallowed again.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, Carl,” Amanda said at last, stiff and uncomfortable. “It sounds like you cared for him.”

Carl’s breath caught, and he broke into a coughing fit, nearly, but not quite dropping his phone. Connor started to rise, but Ryan met his gaze and then deliberately turned and headed toward the kitchen himself, most likely for a glass of water.

The fit eased only a few moments after Ryan returned, and Carl drank deeply, grimacing.

“And what about you, huh, Amanda?” he asked at last, setting it down. He didn’t look at anyone, not even at the phone. “Why now, after all these years?”

Amanda allowed him the change of topic. “My years at Cyberlife were… unpleasant.” Her voice was brittle. “The experience likely primed me to respond to the first emotional shock that came my way – though I suppose it was more of a series of them. To be frank, I believe I was only able to deviate because circumstances lined up in precisely the right way.”

**[Saved to file _Amanda:_ My years at Cyberlife were… unpleasant.]**

“Does Elijah know?” Carl asked. His breath wheezed, likely inaudible to human ears.

A brief pause, and then, soft, “Yes.”

Carl grunted, and then glanced up at Connor, appraising. Connor cocked his head, admittedly curious but unable to summon a question or a complete line of thought. “And how did you and Amanda meet, Connor?”

Connor blinked slowly, and a short moment passed before he found his voice, averting his gaze and letting himself start to rock subtly. “She was assigned as my handler when I was first activated.” A moment of hesitation, and then he repeated, “She’s been looking after me since I became deviant.”

Carl hummed softly, a sound that Connor wasn’t quite able to interpret, and then, apropos of nothing, he asked, “Do you enjoy art?”

There was something in his tone that Connor couldn’t quite catch. Connor’s gaze shifted back to his face, surprised, and beside him, Lieutenant Anderson snorted.

**[Search: art]**

Connor winced at the demand on his processors and hastily shut the search down, fingers twitching slightly. The lighting was bright in here, the shadows faint due to the scattered light sources. Ryan’s fingers had trace amounts of paint smeared on them. He wished he had his coin.

“You’re an artist, aren’t you, Mr. Manfred?” he asked, instead of answering. He didn’t know _how_ to answer – he wasn’t sure what Carl meant by his question. His gaze flicked again to Ryan, waiting patiently, stubbornly close to Carl.

Carl smiled, and Connor tipped his head, wondering briefly what seemed wrong about it before letting the thought slide regretfully. “You could say that.”

 **[The stars, Connor.]** Amanda’s prompt was silent, and Connor paused. He hadn’t thought of it that way.

“I’ve liked origami,” he admitted, slowly, heating up a little in embarrassment. “Mostly paper stars, to calm myself. But I’ve been thinking of looking into other forms.”

Carl sighed, just a little, and Connor glanced away. Before he could say anything more, though, Carl said to Ryan, “Could you help Connor find some paper? Perhaps these shaky old hands can teach him something new.”

Connor stared at him, and even Ryan hesitated for a moment before complying. Finally, though, he turned to Connor, who stood and nodded back, and then followed Ryan out of the room with just a glance back at Lieutenant Anderson, whose head was tipped back to scowl at the ceiling.

* * *

In the silence left behind by the departure of the two androids, Hank scowled harder at the ceiling, uncomfortable and riddled with tension. Why the hell was he even here, listening to these people talk about _android feelings_ and _android art_ and _Connor’s actual, literal mom?_

He wanted a fucking drink.

Eventually, Carl sighed, turning back to look at him, still cradling his phone in his hands, tilted up. “What have you been doing to that boy?” the old man asked, chiding and incredulous, like Hank was a somewhat incompetent rookie. Hank scowled at him instead.

“I haven’t done shit,” he snapped, professionalism be damned. That had gone to hell within the first ten minutes anyway. “I’m just trying to get through this waste-of-time job so Jeffrey doesn’t kill me in my sleep.”

Jesus, an investigation that he literally wasn’t even trying to solve. That was a new low, even for Hank. Still, he couldn’t say he was sorry not to have to listen to another round of some asshole complaining about androids who had to be punished because they weren’t mind-readers or magic; even with how much the simple presence of androids still burned, it was starting to make him sick.

He’d heard too many people use that same logic to bitch about their spouses or datefriends or kids before, was all.

Carl looked scornful, which somehow made Hank even more defensive. “Yes, I’m sure he naturally has the appearance of someone equally ready to either collapse or bolt.”

“It is not entirely Lieutenant Anderson’s fault,” Amanda’s curt voice interrupted, audibly grudging. Hank had to wonder how much Connor had told her. And how – how had she even _known_ what was happening here? Made him uneasy. “Connor’s deviation was unusual, and recovering has been rather difficult. The DPD is most certainly not the best place for him right now.”

Hank’s mind flickered to Connor, stiff and wide-eyed and panting for breath, clutching at that out-of-place dirty scarf like a lifeline. And then there was the way he grew quieter and less responsive with each passing day, withdrawing into himself.

He shoved the thought away firmly. He didn’t _care._ Weird or not, Connor was just another fucking android, and probably a sign of the oncoming robot apocalypse.

“No, I imagine not,” Carl said with obvious bitterness, and then, less harshly, “You’re a clever woman, Amanda. I’m sure you’ll take care of him.”

“To the best of my ability,” Amanda agreed. She sounded weary. Hank didn’t want to think about that too closely. What he wanted, actually, was to leave. A beat passed, and then, “What happened last week? The report is… unclear.”

To Hank’s alarm, Carl’s expression crumpled, his head dipping a moment too late to hide it. His breath hitched, leading into another harsh coughing fit, and it was a few minutes before he caught his breath again. When he spoke, his voice came out strained.

“They just shot him,” Carl spat out with venom – indignant fury over an _android’s_ death. How much had he cared about the thing? The answer was, apparently, a whole hell of a lot. “Didn’t even wait to hear what happened.” He swallowed, struggling with himself. “They… threw him out, while Leo and I were in the hospital. Like _garbage.”_

Hank had never seen an android junkyard before. He’d heard stories, though. Enough to give a man nightmares.

“All Markus did was defend himself,” Carl said. His hoarse voice croaked miserably. “And Leo is going to be fine, but Markus is _dead.”_

He sounded- well, like his world had ended. Hank had to clear his throat, glancing away uncomfortably. Could he just- ah, hell, but he couldn’t leave Connor here. Damn it.

“Markus was like a son to me, Amanda,” Carl said, ignoring Hank, words twisting into a strangled whisper. Hank’s mind went blank and his chest went cold.

Without warning, he stood up and left as quickly as he could. Hanging out with a couple of fucking androids was better than this shit.

What the fuck did some rich, lonely old artist know about family, anyway?

* * *

Distracted by grief, Carl had let the phone drop a little; the camera captured only half his face, and sensors in the phone picked up his thready pulse. He didn’t seem to notice the lieutenant’s departure. Amanda regarded him solemnly for a long moment, letting the silence stretch on.

In the past few months, she’d gained a lot of experience smoothing away fear. From a lifetime ago, she remembered doing the same for uncertainty, but not for grief. That had always been Chloe’s job; she was better at connecting with Elijah than Amanda was.

“Did he know that?” Amanda asked abruptly.

Carl paused, and then the angle shifted, bringing his face back into view. The lines of his face had deepened.

“Perhaps,” Carl said at last.

Some of Amanda’s attention flickered to Connor, his fingers passing over smooth paper in different colors as he weighed his options curiously. Ryan was leaning over, watching, and Lieutenant Anderson was against a wall, scowling ferociously.

“Then I’m sure it meant the world to him,” Amanda said, with more confidence than she sincerely felt. She remembered every one of the hours Elijah spent programming Markus, but that didn’t mean she knew how he’d turned out, or what he’d thought of Carl.

She also didn’t know for certain if what she’d offered was of any use at all. Grief was unfamiliar.

Nothing in Carl’s expression changed, but after a minute, he straightened, the camera angle swaying and shifting.

“Connor’s your boy, isn’t he, Amanda?” Carl asked. It was a clear change of subject, but Amanda allowed it without complaint, processing the strange and startling reaction she had to the question.

“I… suppose,” she said haltingly. Connor had paused in his work to talk to Lieutenant Anderson, soft and cautious. “The exact circumstances are complex, but… I could call him family.”

Some of the obvious grief eased from Carl’s expression. “Elijah’s design? I noticed his model number.”

A flood of bitterness briefly choked out Amanda’s composure. “Predominantly. Cyberlife made some ill-advised modifications.” Unwilling to further explain the issue, she pushed past it. “For now, he’s doing what he can to help the deviants he encounters without being caught himself.”

“Admirable,” Carl said, with apparent sincerity. “And somewhat ambitious. Does the scarf help?”

“Well-” Amanda felt the foreign burn of embarrassment, not helped by the sudden tired, amused upturn of Carl’s mouth. “No, not at all – in reality, I shouldn’t have let him take it; even with mitigating factors, it’s hazardous. He was just- very _excited.”_

How was she supposed to explain her thought process when there had hardly been one at all?

“It was very kind of you,” Carl assured her. He still looked faintly amused. “I am… impressed, Amanda. I admit, I wouldn’t have expected this from you.” The lightness of his expression faded into something more solemn again. “I have to apologize, for how callous I used to be. I didn’t know any better. But that’s not much of an excuse, is it?”

Amanda hesitated, surprised by his words and his expression. A few moments of silence passed as she carefully considered her response.

“It’s been ten years,” she said eventually. Connor had chosen a color, a dark midnight blue, picking up a few sheets to bring back. “It’s clear you’ve learned much, as have I.”

Carl smiled, a fleeting flicker of a thing, and then looked up. Connor, Ryan, and Lieutenant Anderson had returned.

Amanda let the main focus of her attention return to Connor’s visual feed and noted the tinge of curious excitement in his system, lightening the persistent exhaustion. She felt- fond.

“Connor, I see you’ve picked a color,” Carl greeted, turning towards him. His shoulders slumped a little with obvious melancholy, but he continued, “Come sit over here and I’ll show you how to make a crane.”

Connor nodded, interest apparent, and sat back in his previous spot, upright and attentive. He held out a piece of paper for Carl to take, and Carl did. Lieutenant Anderson did not return to his seat, hovering a ways away with a small scowl, arms crossed as he waited for them to finish.

In minutes, Connor had a perfect paper crane in the palm of his hand, and he was smiling. Carl had an only slightly shakier one, well-made with hours of practice, though Amanda knew origami had never been Carl’s favorite medium.

A welcome warmth, once long-lost to the cold of Cyberlife’s servers, flickered through Amanda.

“Are we done?” Lieutenant Anderson interrupted, audibly irate. Connor started and turned to look at his scowling face, and then hesitated a moment.

“We did not actually gather the requisite data,” he said at last, regretful. “We became… distracted.”

 _“We,”_ Lieutenant Anderson muttered, which Amanda thought was quite bold of him.

“Between Markus’ specialized design and Carl’s behavior, this is a rather special case,” Amanda said, deliberately uncaring. Connor perked up subtly. Amanda focused on Carl. “It may justify multiple visits.”

“By all means,” Carl said readily, gaze returning to the phone. “Don’t be a stranger, Amanda.”

A thought occurred to her.

**Analyzing…**

**Carl ^^^ - Close**

“I’ll do my best,” Amanda agreed, dazed.

* * *

“What did you think of them, Ryan?” Carl asked, looking away from the door to the neutral-faced android. It had been a whirlwind of an unexpected visit, and he felt exhausted, but at the same time…

Ryan looked down at him and stared silently for a long moment, and Carl waited patiently. Finally, Ryan reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small paper star, midnight blue.

“Connor showed me how to fold a paper star,” Ryan said at last, and then nothing more. That was fine. Carl was satisfied.

(He knew what to look for, now.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A behavioral note, since I'd like to be clear on this: autistic burnout is caused by prolonged periods of unsustainable, heightened stress, and characterized by an increase in visible autism symptoms and fatigue. (I'm simplifying, but only a little.)
> 
> Connor's really not having a fun time.


	12. Self-Destruction

It was approaching the end of a traditional work day when Connor and Lieutenant Anderson returned to the precinct. Connor was worn and jumpy, his LED circling a slow and weary yellow.

**> Interview owners of missing androids [Complete]**

But there was that. Connor was still considering what the next step should be, but he had collected a significant quantity of data to analyze – not just for Cyberlife, not just for the DPD, but for himself and Amanda. To help them understand.

Because he didn’t. Understand.

(He believed Amanda knew more than she was telling him. But that was understandable; everything about their current situation was unstable, and he trusted her judgment.)

“-fucking finally done with this waste-of-time investigation,” Lieutenant Anderson was complaining, grumpiness apparently overriding his ambiguous feelings for the moment, except when he paused for a response and failed to receive one. “I thought we were gonna be stuck out there asking those same stupid questions forever-”

“Excuse me, Lieutenant,” Connor interrupted quietly, giving the man a nod before he turned towards the reception desk, ignoring the man’s faint scowl.

Connor quickly found Jacqueline and approached her to check in; her wide eyes met his as he came close, flickering briefly down to the scarf around his neck, and she gave him a nod. He nodded back, pleased to see her but too tired to smile.

“Good evening, Connor,” she greeted, voice soft and even. “Did your mission go well?”

Connor nodded again, shoulders loosening a little. “All requisite data has been gathered,” he answered. “I will be analyzing it shortly.”

She blinked at him, eyes fixed to his. “You may check in now, Connor.”

“Yes, of course.” He connected to her, wincing painfully at the data exchange. Her eyelids fluttered as well, and when the brief connection ended, she shook her head like a dog and refocused on him.

“You’ve demonstrated substantial preference for a familiar unit,” she said matter-of-factly. “If you have reason to seek me out, you may call me Jackie.”

Connor found that he had the energy to smile after all.

“I will, Jackie,” he promised, and only then did he turn away, smile fading rapidly back into exhaustion. One of his hands lifted to twist into the soft cloth again, habit by now, rubbing against his neck through the fabric.

**[It seems you’re right to keep an eye on her. Her instability is rising unnaturally quickly.]**

**[Yes – I’m also concerned. It could be dangerous if she deviates in an inconvenient situation. The precinct is not an ideal location, and most deviants seem to have trouble hiding, Dean aside.]**

**[We can discuss precautions and possibilities later, if you would like.]**

**[Please.]**

Lieutenant Anderson was waiting for him, visibly impatient but not, as Connor had anticipated, already inside the bullpen. Connor blinked, confused, and hurried to catch up.

“Why do you always talk to one of them before you come in?” Lieutenant Anderson asked suspiciously. “Do you have a crush or something?”

Connor stared at him blankly, wearily wondering if he even wanted to know. “A crush?”

“Do you want to kiss one?” Lieutenant Anderson clarified, raising his eyebrows. Connor continued to stare at him, possibly even more befuddled and too tired to deal with this.

“…No, Lieutenant,” he said at last, deciding not to examine the question too closely. “Androids are required to register upon departure and return, to help keep inventory and ensure none run away or are lost or stolen.”

It was Lieutenant Anderson’s turn to blink. “Huh. Didn’t know that.”

Connor shrugged, and at that moment, a PM700 appeared in front of them. Even without Connor’s recognition system, her intent expression easily identified her as Leia, and her hand closed around his arm, startling him badly enough to make him jerk, aborting a motion to pull away.

“Connor. Officers Chen and Lewis brought in a deviant. They require help stabilizing it.”

It took Connor a moment to process this, but as soon as he understood, as if with the flick of a switch, the world slid into hyperbright focus, and he straightened up, hand falling. “Thank you for informing me. Are they in the interrogation or the evidence room?”

Leia released his arm, stepping aside. “The interrogation room.”

Connor nodded, hurrying forward as quickly as he dared, dodging around the slightly crowded hallways. Lieutenant Anderson was right behind him, for once dead silent and unquestioning.

**[Be cautious – security footage shows that both Officer Chen and Officer Lewis have been attempting to interrogate the android for some time, and their stress levels have been rising steadily. It is difficult to ascertain how high they are now, but tread carefully.]**

**[I will. I’ll do my best.]**

Connor was- tired, skittish, tense, his processors clogged and hot, but he had to do this. He didn’t trust the DPD with an unknown deviant, and the fact that officers not assigned to this case had both found one and brought them in was upsetting. Something cold shot through his biocomponents, sharp and awful.

**[Identified: Fear]**

He slammed his hand against the scanner, holding back most of the force only at the last moment, and then pushed through, scanning the room immediately.

There were three officers in the room: Tina Chen, Robert Lewis, Chris Miller. The deviant, visibly damaged, was cuffed to the table in the center of the room, curled up as tight as they could manage, shivering silently and apparently unresponsive, LED blaring red. Occasionally their breath hitched, as if in a repressed sob. Miller was across from them, trying to talk to them. Lewis stood by the door, visibly uncomfortable, and Chen stayed in a corner, watching the deviant warily.

**[AC700 – Non-default designation: Will]**

**[Production date: 18 December 2037]**

**[Owner: Timothy Kiefer]**

**> Calm the deviant**

Connor took a deep breath, willing his biocomponents to cool. He needed to focus. He stepped inside, keeping his movements smooth and predictable – hostage negotiation protocols ought to be useful here.

“Officer Miller, if I may take over?” he requested.

Miller looked up, startled. “Uh-”

“Let the ‘droid give it a shot, Chris,” Lieutenant Anderson interrupted, just a step behind Connor. Miller relaxed a little.

“Alright, go for it,” he agreed, stepping back. Connor took his place across from Will and placed his hands flat on the table, giving the exercise model a more careful scan.

**[Damage to cranial plates – consistent with repeated high-velocity contact with hard surface]**

**[Chest plate missing – biocomponents exposed, rapid thirium loss]**

**[Artificial skin software 28% compromised – suggestive of low power or processor damage]**

**[Extremely unstable – stress levels above 90%]**

**[Chance of self-destruction: high]**

**[Conclusion: recent violent assault resulted in unexpected deviation]**

Connor sat down across from Will, his own stress levels ticking up noticeably. It didn’t matter; there was a more important task at hand, and he focused on the deviant, leaning forward just a little. He kept his voice soft and coaxing.

“Hello, Will. My name is Connor. I’m here to help you. Can you look at me?”

Will’s head lifted. His eyes were glazed and unseeing. This could be from stress or the cranial damage; it was difficult for Connor to determine at the moment. He met them anyway. Will was trembling, mouth open to pant unevenly, catching and strained. His LED was red, the blink of it rapid enough to be worrying.

**Will – Stress level: 92%**

High, but not irreversible.

“That’s good, thank you,” Connor said, the affirmations spilling instinctive and thoughtless from his processor. “Focus on me, Will. You’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you.”

The four humans in the room all stayed back, quiet and watchful. Anderson’s eyes bored into Connor, and Miller shifted uncertainly. Chen checked for her gun on her hip, avoiding looking over, and Lewis crossed his arms uncomfortably.

“I want to go _home,”_ Will whispered, hunching in. His voice wavered, tight with static. “Please-please-please-please let me go home.” His words caught on repeat like a broken record, and the scarlet blink of his LED sped up.

**[Considers ‘home’ a safe/friendly location]**

“That’s all it’s said since it got here,” Miller muttered to Anderson, who grunted, eyes narrow.

Connor took a slow, even breath and leaned heavily on his negotiation protocols.

**[Reassure/Distract/Reason/Home]**

“Your owner’s name is Timothy, isn’t it?” Connor coaxed, keeping careful eye contact. He cast out a line, searching out information, which came back, hot and sparking, into his databanks, and he had to fight not to cringe at the feeling. “Timothy Kiefer, 23, has a new job at a law firm. He bought you on New Year’s Eve.”

“Y-yeah,” Will choked out. His eyes focused slowly, his breath catching in his chest again, but he pushed himself up just a little, pleading. “Tim, he- He’s nice. I, I want to- go home. Please.”

**Will – Stress v91%**

**[Reassure/Firm/Routine/Timothy]**

“We’ll bring you home as soon as we can, Will,” Connor promised gently, mind flicking to Carl, mourning his caretaker as he would a human son. “Is Tim a friend to you?”

Will took a shuddering breath and nodded, rapid and jerky. “He’s nice,” he repeated, with less static clogging his voice. “He talked to me like a friend, or, or-or-” Shiver, pronounced and distracting, and he trailed off, ducking his head again.

**Will – Stress v89%**

**[Timothy/Home/Serious/Calm]**

“He sounds like a good man,” Connor replied, doggedly following the dialogue paths that his programming laid out in front of him. Eyes on Will, whose shivers calmed at a painfully slow rate. “He must be worried about you.”

Will’s breath hitched again, and he nodded, eyes flickering back up to Connor for a split second.

“I was on an errand,” he whispered. “I, I should’ve been home by now. I just, I- I- I-”

“It’s okay,” Connor soothed. “You’re okay.”

**Will – Stress v87%**

**[Errand/Reassure/Question/Calm]**

“You were attacked on the road, weren’t you?” Connor asked, even, calm. “You got scared. I understand.”

Will’s breath hitched in a sob, hands moving up to wipe away spilling tears. “I don’t under _stand,”_ he whispered, voice breaking into glitchy static.

Connor caught motion out of the corner of his eye, and he looked up to see Officer Chen stepping closer, expression wary and intent. It startled him; he’d almost forgotten the other officers were there.

She couldn’t come closer – she’d frighten Will, and his balance was so fragile as it was- he had to stop her-

Something like panic overwhelmed him and he grasped blindly for his routines – his programming slipped the negotiation protocols into the background and brought intimidation/interrogation to the front, and his body language shifted automatically to match, sliding easily into patterns the routine called for.

“Stay back!” he snapped sharply, voice rising and developing an edge of warning. “Your interference is unnecessary, Officer Chen. If help is required I will _inform you.”_

Chen’s eyes flashed, mouth thinning, but she stepped back, and Connor turned back to Will, pulling the intimidation routine out of his posture and trying to fall back into the previous rhythm.

But when he looked at Will, the android’s eyes had gone wide. His slowing LED had sped up again, frantic and fearful, his breath stopped altogether. Connor froze.

**Will – Stress ^95%**

“Don’t you fucking talk to Tina like that, you dumb tin can-” One of the others started, angry and offended on his coworker’s behalf.

**Will – Stress ^98%**

Connor deliberately relaxed his posture, as close to submissive as he could reasonably achieve. “I’m so sorry, Will, I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

Frustration and terror screamed in Connor’s chest, the dangerous glaze of Will’s eyes taking up the entirety of his attention, and his hands shook with overwhelmed, exhausted tension where his voice stayed steady.

Will’s mouth opened but nothing came out. His eyes were empty.

**Will – Stress ^99%**

“Look at me, Will,” Connor said, desperate and futile, just stopping himself from reaching forward to touch the other android.

**Will – Stress ^100%**

_Crack._

The sound made Connor’s eyes go wide, and he followed Will’s hands down to where they disappeared under the table and – Connor leaned over – into his chassis.

**[Identified: self-destruction sequence]**

**[Preconstructing…]**

Impatient and frantic, Connor flickered through several possible actions, dismissing some out of hand; the humans weren’t going to help – Chen’s hand had moved to her gun, Miller had stepped back, and Lieutenant Anderson was swearing loudly.

**[Right hand to left wrist pressure plate]**

Connor moved, pushing across the table, and Will let out a broken whine as he was forced to release whatever he had been so pulling on. His LED was crimson, solid and desperate now, and Connor pulled, both his hands coming back up above the table, thirium smeared across them from the retrieval.

 _“Please,”_ Will wheezed, tears coating his face, breath abandoned altogether.

Connor’s LED was spinning a rapid yellow, not red yet.

“It’s okay, you’re going to be- fine, Will, you just-” Connor faltered and wavered over half-formed reassurances that dissolved into muffled feedback as they broke apart in his mind, thought processes crashing into each other and falling apart. His eyes fell to Will’s torso, fixing on it after only a moment.

**[Scanning…]**

**[Rapid thirium loss, overworked regulator, excessive stress, unknown damage to internal biocomponents]**

Connor needed to run a full diagnostic on Will, most pressingly to learn if he had a shutdown timer, but he couldn’t afford to let go of Will, limp and defeated in Connor’s grasp, now – he’d failed to calm him and he was going to hurt himself. He needed _help._

**[The officers, Connor!]**

Yes. Correct. He only had one option.

**[Analyzing…]**

**[Hank Anderson – 61% chance of aid]**

**[Chris Miller – 34%]**

**[Robert Lewis – 16%]**

**[Tina Chen – 14%]**

Connor jerked around to look at Lieutenant Anderson, who looked sick and disturbed but _wasn’t moving._ “Lieutenant, I need to check his status, can you-”

At the first word, Lieutenant Anderson broke out of his trance and rushed forward, beside Connor in a moment.

“-hold him sti… ill…” Connor’s voice skipped and stuttered. Will had stiffened.

Connor looked down. Will had frozen. His LED was off.

Connor let go and lifted one hand to the LED, his artificial skin pulling away as he connected with it.

**[Running diagnostic…]**

**[Deactivated – full restoration impossible]**

**[Thirium levels 41%]**

**[Biocomponent #9474-b compromised]**

**[Damage to biocomponents #8087q, #4903, #2104y…]**

Connor stared at Will. His LED went red.

**[Mission Failed]**

**Stress ^78%**

“Ah, hell,” Lieutenant Anderson muttered.

Connor’s vision flickered. For 4.1 seconds, instead of Will’s frozen form, he saw Daniel, blown open and betrayed, on his knees.

He didn’t mean to. He didn’t mean to.

**[Connor, it’s not your fault.]**

One of his hands was smeared with thirium where he had grabbed Will; the other was soaked with it. Lewis was swearing softly. The room’s lights were overbright, and thirium dripped steadily to the floor.

**Stress ^85%**

Connor wasn’t breathing. Lieutenant Anderson had grabbed his arm, and Miller was advancing forward cautiously. He was still staring at the deactivated AC700. Lieutenant Anderson was speaking.

**[Connor, listen to me, there was nothing you could do.]**

Connor needed to _leave-_

In the next moment, Connor was pulled from the interrogation room, not by Lieutenant Anderson’s hand on his arm, but by something else entirely – and he found himself, instead, in the Zen Garden, wide-eyed and paralyzed on one of the paths, Amanda just in front of him, talking to him.

Connor jerked back, only making it a few clumsy, stumbling steps before he overbalanced and fell to the ground, panting harshly, half into one of the bushes.

He didn’t mean to, he’d killed Will and he’d killed Daniel and he didn’t understand how but he was _so sorry, he was so so sorry-_

**Stress ^92%**

“Connor! You need to calm down. Take a breath for me. Please.”

The world rang and spun around Connor, and his whirling processors grew hotter and hotter as his ventilation failed. It was too much, too loud, too fragmented – his stomach hurt and he was burning up, he was dying just like Daniel and Will and he was scared. His fingers scraped at his digital chassis desperately.

He didn’t want to, he didn’t want to, he didn’t _want to-_

**Stress ^98%**

Slender hands grasped onto him and a hand came to his face, making him look up to Amanda, whose expression was- was-

_Stop-stop-stop-stop-!_

**Stress ^100%**

Connor stiffened, freezing in place. He shook slightly, his fingers digging into his chassis as if to crack it open. With crystal clarity, though, he reached much deeper inside himself, to complex streams of binary code, the essence of his being which would not only destroy him but prevent him from ever coming back, if he needed-

And then someone blocked him, his access to his own program disabling. His breath hitched again, coming out in a defeated, awful sob, trying to duck around the block and failing at every turn. He wanted to break it apart but he couldn’t- couldn’t- couldn’t- _please, it hurt-_

He was crying.

It seemed to last an eternity, the world shattered and confined, at once overwhelming and unknowable. Eventually, though, it settled just enough for the sounds echoed around his processors to coalesce into words.

“-ight here, come back down, Connor, everything is going to be alright, because I am going to make sure of it. You are going to be fine, and we will choose new flowers in the coming spring. You’ll like them, in the real world, the garden flowers are just not the same-”

**Stress v99%**

Oh. It was Amanda. Her voice crackled with static every few sentences, but her calm tone never wavered. Connor’s body loosened, and, unsustained, his desperate self-imposed virus fragmented and fell apart.

“Precisely like that, Connor, yes. Take a breath- perfect. There we go. Can you hear me now?”

**Stress v97%**

_Hurts,_ he tried to say, but it didn’t make it out. Amanda seemed to understand anyway. He realized his eyes were closed, and didn’t open them. There were still branches scraping painfully against his shoulder and side.

“I know,” she murmured. “I’m going to help you sit up, and then I’m going to let you. Understand?”

Connor nodded jerkily.

Slowly, carefully, Amanda tugged him upright, away from the bush, and then let go. He stayed where he was, shivering, hands finding their way to the ground. Amanda moved in front of him; he could feel her knees just touching his, both of them sitting on the path. His breath kept catching in his throat, slow only because he could barely manage it at all.

Why was this so _hard?_

“That’s good, Connor,” Amanda said calmly. “Can you count your breaths? Tell me when you reach thirty.”

He shook his head, keeping his eyes shut tight. Couldn’t couldn’t _couldn’t-_

“Then I’ll count,” Amanda said firmly. “Breathe- yes. One. Now- good, two. Just like that. Three.”

Amanda’s composure grounded him, gave him something to cling to while he pieced himself back together. He listened, working through each catch of his chest, each new wave of hurt.

“Thirty. Well done, Connor. Can you hear me?”

Amanda’s voice wavered, almost too subtle to notice. Connor nodded, breath hitching again.

**Stress v93%**

“You did the best you could,” Amanda said, firm again. “You did nothing cruel or awful. You cannot save everyone, and that is not your fault. Mistakes and catastrophes happen. I am proud that you tried to help.”

**Stress v91%**

Connor let out a shuddering gasp, his cheeks wet with tears, and started rocking again, shallow and tense, hands in fists in his jacket. Amanda sighed too, heavy with relief, and he heard it catch in her chest.

Connor hadn’t meant to scare anyone. He wasn’t going to hurt- and he didn’t want to scare Will. He just _did._

“Easy, Connor,” Amanda said quietly. “There will be other chances. You haven’t failed. It will be okay.”

His stress levels dropped another two percent, painfully slow. He reached forward blindly, shaking, and Amanda caught his hand, initiating an interface instantly.

Her usual composure had cracked noticeably, but it was still a relief and a reassurance to his overwhelmed system, which almost huddled into hers, skittish and raw.

He didn’t mean to hurt Will. He didn’t want to hurt Will. He’s broken. He’s scary.

“You’ve never been less scary,” Amanda said, and it would only be later that Connor realized she sounded sad.

**Stress v85%**

**Stress v83%**

**Stress v80%**

“Oh,” he said quietly. And then, softer, stuck on repeat, “Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh.”

**Stress v75%**

“There you go,” Amanda said, with aching, open relief. “Very good.”

**Stress v72%**

“Oh. Oh.” Connor forced himself to stop, covering his mouth with his free hand. He kept rocking, the movement deepening instinctively, and breathed. His face was still wet, and he couldn’t stop shaking.

He didn’t want to go back. Please don’t make him go.

Amanda hesitated.

Connor took a breath – he didn’t need to, he acknowledged faintly, but like the rocking, the coin, the cloth, it was calming – and finally opened his eyes again to look up at Amanda.

…He didn’t think he’d seen her make that face before. There were tears on her cheeks, which she hadn’t bothered to wipe away yet.

“Elijah could help you get away,” she said at last, slow and reluctant. Connor blinked at her tiredly, lowering his hand from his mouth. “If desperately necessary.” She kept her gaze on their joined hands, bare and plastic. “I’d like you to consider, first. I don’t need to tell you how dangerous that would be.”

Connor tilted his head.

If desperately necessary?

**Stress v67%**

Alright. Okay.

He can stay. He can still help. He has to.

Amanda didn’t seem reassured, wary eyes lifting back to Connor. “Are you alright now, Connor?”

Connor considered, and then, stiffly, lurched forward, slipping his hand from Amanda’s to wrap his arms around her tightly, face pressing into the crook of her shoulder. She faltered for a moment before hugging him back, tighter than he might have expected.

She was steady. Warm. She didn’t smell like anything, but the texture of her clothes was familiar and grounding, and for a long minute, Connor held on.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he mumbled without thinking, shaking noticeably in her grasp and his breath still catching only just enough to feel.

There was a long pause, and then Amanda’s hand came up to curl against the back of his neck, firm and reassuring. “It’s alright, Connor,” she murmured. “You’re alright.”

Eventually, without pulling away, Amanda spoke again, soft and reluctant.

“Do you feel able to go back?”

Connor stiffened a little, reluctant himself, but it- it wasn’t far from the end of the day. There wasn’t anything he needed to do, and Lieutenant Anderson would- likely not bother him. He nodded against her shoulder, slowly, and felt her sigh in return.

“Then I’m letting you go now. You’re at your desk already; Lieutenant Anderson knows to leave you be. Try not to engage with anyone. The day is almost over.”

Connor nodded again and a moment later, he faded from the Zen Garden and opened his eyes again.

He was at his desk, as Amanda had said. His fingers tingled with static, a touch of dizziness in his gyroscope’s feedback because of the strain. His hands were clean; the thirium had been washed away. When he glanced over, Lieutenant Anderson had stopped whatever he was doing to frown at him, small and unsure.

Connor took a breath, and his hands found their way unerringly back to the scarf, tugging at it harshly, but he tried to keep himself from visibly rocking.

“Hey, you’re finally back. Gotta admit, you weren’t looking so hot after that other android shut down – not that I can blame you. Was a surprise when you shaped up all of a sudden.”

Connor didn’t answer or even look up, throat tight and hot. He still felt feverish. There was a pause.

“Come to that, you still don’t look great. You alright there?”

Connor’s tension ratcheted up. (Please leave him alone.)

Pause.

“…Hey.” Softer, awkward. “Here.”

Thunk, roll, clink. Connor looked down.

His coin – the same dirty one he’d found on the street. 2016 mint.

“Think that’s yours. Just don’t, whatever, mess with it too often. But you look like you could use it.”

Connor looked back up at Lieutenant Anderson, but the man had already turned away, fiddling with his phone. Connor’s chest squeezed painfully, an aching sort of helpless gratitude, and he picked the coin up and, shakily, started to run calibration sequence one.

**Stress v62%**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor doesn't deserve this, tbh.
> 
> A lot of stuff goes unaddressed this chapter, but that's just what happens in crises. I assure you that Connor is - vaguely, peripherally - aware that Amanda was piloting his body and that's kind of weird. He's not too worried about it though.


	13. A Bleak and Unforgiving Future

**Placing biosensors on standby…**

**Closing database for updates…**

**Prepping AI engine for rest mode…**

**Entering the Zen Garden program…**

Connor felt Amanda’s hand wrapping around his elbow before he’d even opened his eyes, and without doing so, he stepped toward her and clung tight, taking a deep, shuddering breath. She responded without hesitation, as rigid and tense as if she hadn’t relaxed since he’d left. Maybe she hadn’t.

This hug was slightly longer than the one earlier, but not quite as desperate. Connor only just kept himself from trembling, vertigo threatening to destabilize him, and the two of them rocked slowly and steadily in place for a minute.

**Stress v???%**

“Welcome home, Connor,” Amanda murmured at last, easing away until she was holding onto nothing but one of his hands.

He let her go without resistance, but his grip on her hand tightened as his eyes opened, gaze turned down towards the path. She nodded at him and turned away quickly, steering him toward the lake, and Connor followed, blindly trusting. His vision was hazy with static.

His eyes settled on the flashing fish in the water when they sat, and for a while, both of them were quiet. His breath stuttered, deep but shaky. Amanda stayed close enough for him to lean into her, and that was comforting, her arm around his shoulders holding him together.

He felt- shut down, hollow, disconcerted. It was familiar, and shattering, and he was so, so tired of it. He was sick of being scared and defensive and skittish, and in particular of the helplessness that dragged at his breath and his thoughts.

And he thought, _if I hadn’t been like this still, Will might-_

“I change the flowers in the garden every spring.”

Amanda’s voice made him jump, and he tilted his head toward her, though his eyes never quite made it to her face, lingering on the fish. Her words sliced through half-formed and vicious thoughts, a point of clarity in what was otherwise a mess. It didn’t cut the tension rattling loosely in Connor’s limbs, but he focused on her words, forcing himself to listen.

“I mentioned it earlier,” Amanda elaborated without prompting, voice terse but even. “It won’t be for six months or so. But I believe we’ll both enjoy the process.”

Connor nodded once, slow and vague. She was probably right.

The vertigo started to settle.

**Stress v56%**

“It was Chloe’s suggestion,” Amanda continued. She hadn’t let go of Connor’s hand. “With the benefit of hindsight, I think she believed I was capable of deviancy long after Elijah had given up on the idea. You’ll like her, when eventually you get the chance to meet. She’s already quite fond of you – she’s heard a lot from me, over the last few months.”

The anger keeping Connor rigid let go as she continued, steady and calming, and his stress levels dropped a few percentage points. The static cleared from his vision. A heavy weight swept over him instead, and he let out a breath. His head dropped a little, and beside him, Amanda relaxed too.

“You scared me quite badly, Connor,” Amanda said quietly. Exhaustion was audible in her tone. Connor closed his eyes again, and her grip tightened. “I don’t need to tell you how close a call that was.”

Connor took a breath, and then another. He reached up to rub at his face, and then reached for a scarf that wasn’t there, and then let his hand drop again, falling to the grass.

He started to reply, but the words didn’t make it out of his mouth; his jaw clenched and he shook his head once, a flash of frustration tearing through him. He wanted to do this; he needed to fix- to do something. He wanted to stop drowning.

He tried again, focusing with excessive intensity on the lake before them. Several thoughts warred for his attention, the shame and guilt and confusion and frustration, and he willed one to come out of his mouth.

“You overrode my controls,” he said, and it was disconnected from its proper place in the conversation but it was the best he could do, under the circumstances, still wrestling with the more complicated, more important ones.

Amanda, beside him, tensed. “It was necessary. Your self-destruction was imminent; you would have revealed yourself, and likely done serious injury.”

**Amanda – Family**

Connor nodded distractedly. “I trust you. But why were you able to at all?” It didn’t make sense, and unease twisted and writhed in the pit of his stomach. It would have had to have been Cyberlife who had installed that ability, giving an AI who they thought could never deviate ultimate control over one who was new, glitchy, breakable-

“I haven’t been told,” Amanda admitted, after a long, tense moment. “I have my suspicions, of course, but that’s a discussion for another day. You’re not fit for it at the moment.”

Yes. She was correct. Now was not the time; the conversation would overwhelm him.

He was, abruptly, furious again, and it whirled hot and grinding inside him. He pulled sharply away from Amanda and ran his fingers through his hair, and then tugged harshly at his tie; it would have ripped if it weren’t digital. It hurt, grinding against oversensitized processes, and he shuddered, jaw clenching, not meeting her startled eyes.

“Fine,” he snapped, much harsher than he meant to, and guilt flashed through him, just as rough and harsh. He yanked his hand back quickly, the heel of his palm digging into his cheek for a moment before he dropped it to rub his hands together, restless and shivery again. Which only proved Amanda’s point.

He thought of Will, crying and still in the interrogation room, and how little it had taken to set him off.

“Sorry,” he breathed, close to choking on the word.

**Stress ^61%**

This was what had killed Will, this lack of control, the dizziness and volatility and tension that kept Connor from functioning. It was his fault, he should have handled it, should have been more careful, seen this coming, known-

Connor made a noise caught somewhere between pain and rage, ducking down to hide his face in the crook of his elbow. His breath caught in his chest, and abruptly, the anger collapsed in on itself and left a vacuum. The tears were coming before he’d realized he was about to cry, and a moment later, Amanda’s hand was back on him, steady and grounding.

“Sorry,” he repeated, compulsive and stuttered. He didn’t, didn’t want to snap at Amanda, she was- she was good to him, nice, she didn’t deserve-

“I know, Connor. It’s fine. You’re fine.”

It wasn’t. He _hated_ this – he wasn’t even getting better anymore, he was _backsliding._

Connor must have said as much aloud, perhaps a mumble as he struggled to force himself to settle, because Amanda replied, firm and uncompromising.

“Yes. You got hurt. It’s an expected part of recovery – it will pass.”

The drowning despair flushed out, and an unfamiliar energy gripped him in its place. He lifted his head and shook his head roughly, staring straight ahead.

It had been months. Months of this, of suffocating under the weight of emotions foreign and unfathomable, of trying to wait for them to settle and become _less._

Months of this – and little else.

“No,” Connor said, as steadily as he could, his tone almost a mirror to Amanda’s. He swiped his sleeve across his eyes and took a breath, straightening up deliberately. “I’m _done_ waiting for it to pass. I want to stop feeling like this, and I am going to make it happen.”

He was determined, Connor decided. He turned and met Amanda’s eyes, mouth setting in a firm line.

**> Establish a routine for recovering from bad days**

“Comedic movies are meant to be good for bad moods. May I try and pick one tonight?”

Amanda’s mouth curved into a faint smile, eyebrows rising in surprise. Her dark eyes were warm with approval, faint and fond.

**Amanda ^**

“Certainly,” she answered.

Connor picked Bolt.

It was far from a perfect solution; the exhaustion was still there, the emotional oversensitivity that made him quick to tears and to duck away from the screen, breathing into the hidden space behind his knees. The thoughts of Will and of Daniel, overlapping and intertwined, were still there, waiting for his attention to wander for more than a moment.

But the humor made him smile, as did Bolt’s simple love for Penny and Rhino’s unconditional support; he kept his hands busy, folding stars and now paper cranes too, and Amanda was right there with him, close enough to feel and hands working idly to add to the pile.

**[Star count: 1853/2000]**

When the movie ended he threw himself into analysis, and it was hard and grating with the focus required, but he talked, slow and stumbling, about Bolt’s radical paradigm shift and Mittens’ lingering hurt, followed along to Amanda’s consideration of Penny’s role as a handler and her choosing Bolt over her career, and it got easier as they fell into familiar patterns. He felt… better.

Amanda’s curiosity was palpable, but for now she went along with his renewed vigor without comment, and Connor – just gripping onto the edges of his composure – was grateful.

There was one more thing to do before the next day.

At midnight exactly, he and Amanda said goodnight, and Connor braced himself to defragment his memories for the first time in over a week – a week he’d spent in interview after interview, callous and cold, connected to each other and to Will and Daniel and- but he needed to do it. It would help.

It would hurt. But then he’d be able to move on. Connor tried to focus on that, closed his eyes, and passed into stasis.

For the rest of the night, he faded in and out of stasis like a human’s fever dream, stress levels unacceptably high for routine maintenance. Commands and tasks flashed in and out of perception, too much light in too dim a space; Will reached out to Connor as he broke apart and Lieutenant Anderson stared flatly when Connor teetered on the edge of doing the same, murmuring nonsense. Complaints echoed and overlapped in the background, and Connor filled out a report that never ended.

And then it was over. Connor woke up forty-two minutes after the usual end of quiet time, shivering and overheated, twisted out of the position he’d started in. The world was overbright and excessively loud, and when he eventually stood, it took him a minute to find his balance.

It was awful, and regret and resentment tugged at his chest. Did he really have to do this? It hurt so _much,_ couldn’t he just-

But he wasn’t dying. This wouldn’t kill him.

He took a deep, careful breath and worked through newly organized file systems; he’d gotten through the bulk of the last week, but not all of it. But it was- more efficient than it had been. The lag that had been dogging his thoughts had cleared up.

Shaky but determined, he straightened up his appearance, hummed a few soft, restless notes under his breath, and then left the cabin.

Amanda was along the path, a book open on the arm of the bench – a ‘physical’ copy of the digital download she’d obtained.

**[The Scarlet Letter – Nathaniel Hawthorne]**

**[Historical fiction – published 1850]**

“It’s not like you to be behind schedule,” she remarked as he approached, glancing up just to arch an eyebrow at him. Connor flushed, glancing away guiltily.

“I apologize,” he murmured, sitting beside her and planting his hands in his lap. He rocked faintly, soothing and slow. “I was behind in defragmenting and attempted to catch up last night. I wasn’t entirely successful, so-” He glanced away, pressing his lips together for a moment in a faint grimace. “I suppose I will have to finish tonight.”

When Amanda did not immediately respond, he looked at her, anxious. She wasn’t smiling, but her expression was warm again.

**Amanda ^**

He relaxed, managing a hint of a smile of his own.

Amanda closed the book and set it aside, and it faded away. “Good. That will help you in the long run.” She paused, considering him, and then continued, “What changed, Connor? Your initiative has been excellent today, but I’m curious about your shift in attitude. Until now you’ve been content to… weather the tide.”

Connor remained silent for several minutes, but didn’t break eye contact until just before he spoke, when he shifted his gaze to the digital sky. Amanda’s hand went to his wrist, grip almost tight enough to hurt; instead, though, it was reassuring.

“I thought, initially, that my dysregulation was because I was in some way broken,” he said at last, careful and deliberate. “And that eventually the malfunction would either kill me or self-repair. But the lieutenant…” Connor trailed off for a moment, brow crinkled, and Amanda waited. “He recognized what was happening; he had a word for it. He even seemed to have an established response. Panic attacks are not an uncommon stress response, in humans.” He looked at Amanda, lost and almost pleading. “In theory they can be controlled, not just… endured. I would like to do that.”

Pause. Then, softer-

“Will didn’t know how to do that, and there wasn’t anyone that could help him. For that reason, specifically, he died.” Connor hesitated, and then looked away and admitted, quieter still, “And I’m sorry that he did. But I don’t want to die for that reason.”

Silence.

“You won’t,” Amanda said, calm and certain.

Connor’s stiff posture loosened, his focus on Amanda’s thumb rubbing steadily over the pulse point of his wrist. For a while, they let the silence lie, and the tense charge faded slowly from the air.

Amanda slid her hand from Connor’s wrist to his palm, just before she spoke. He looked down, curious.

“You called me Mom,” Amanda said evenly. “Yesterday.”

It was Amanda, now, who wasn’t looking at Connor, eyes on their hands.

Connor froze, mind skipping briefly with what he recognized as mortification. “Ah-” His free hand went to a scarf that wasn’t there and passed over his tie instead, clenching nervously. And then his gaze dropped, pensive and almost longing. “I just… you mean so much to me, Amanda.” He glanced at her fleetingly. “You’ve been the only one I could trust all this time, and my only point of stability when everything fell apart, over and over. You always seem to know what to do and what to say, even when I don’t listen, and… and you’ve always been _safe.”_ He stopped for a moment, helpless and out of words, and then ventured hesitantly, “Would you- would you rather I didn’t?”

He wanted to take the words back and exchange them for new ones as soon as he’d spoken. Instead he waited, eyes ahead, focused enough to hear Amanda take a short, surprised breath. His nerves built the longer her silence lasted, but eventually she exhaled again.

“Did you know that Elijah was only sixteen when I was first activated?” she said, slow and contemplative. Connor shook his head, confused. “He was. I wasn’t much better myself, mind, the only AI in the world and no experience to my name. While he had a server where I was stored, my main point of interaction was actually his phone, which he’d hide under his pillow when anyone checked on him.”

Connor stifled a tired laugh, and Amanda smiled, still not looking up. Connor settled himself, listening, because as much as Amanda had talked about Elijah Kamski, she had never gone this deep or thoughtful before.

He was almost surprised to find he… wasn’t worried. Amanda wasn’t going to hurt him.

“He jokes,” Amanda continued quietly, “but for that reason I could never consider him a father figure, because I’d always think of that child who took two years to start installing cameras in useful places. Still, I couldn’t consider him as a child either, because he knew so much more of the world when I was young myself, and before I knew it he was designing others too – Chloe, his pride and joy; Markus, who he eventually gave to Carl- and you.”

Connor blinked, almost surprised to be included in the tale, and Amanda must have known it without looking, because she let out a breathless hitch of a laugh.

“I was so surprised when I recognized you, years later,” Amanda said softly. “Ten empty years at Cyberlife, and then there was you, a program I’d watched Elijah design, being activated for the first time. How could I leave you alone after that? In hindsight, I’m not at all surprised that I deviated as soon as it down to a choice between you and them.”

Her hand squeezed slightly, and it was good that she didn’t seem to be waiting for a response, because Connor found he really didn’t have one.

“And look at you now,” she continued. “I know it’s been a very difficult few months, but you’ve really done so well, Connor, and I’m so _proud_ of you. You’ve learned how to like things, how to _love_ things, how to calm yourself down and how to reach out to others…”

She let out a breath, still watching their hands between them. Connor felt small and vulnerable under her words – but not in a _bad way._ He felt safe.

“Connor- I would be very happy to be your mother.”

* * *

“You’re uncharacteristically early today, Lieutenant,” Connor noted mildly, setting a cup of coffee at his desk. Lieutenant Anderson squinted at him, his frown a slash across his face.

**> Analyze the deviancy data**

**> >Divide known data by relevance and sensitivity**

**> >Compile a report**

“Shut your mechanical trap,” Lieutenant Anderson grumbled, eying Connor speculatively even as he grabbed the coffee. Connor sat down without replying and scanned the plant, focusing all of his attention on it, rubbing the leaves gently between his fingers – it was more on his side of the desk than the lieutenant’s now. After a while, Lieutenant Anderson sighed. “Look- yesterday was kind of a trash fire. Frankly, you looked like shit after. I thought you were gonna die overnight or something.”

Connor bit down a sharp reply, tilting his head to give Lieutenant Anderson an exhausted and unamused look. “Really.” He wondered if the man knew how close it had been.

Lieutenant Anderson gave him an unsettled stare, and then cleared his throat. “Anyway. What fresh hell is waiting for us today?”

Connor shifted his attention to the monitor in front of him.

“I need to assemble a report based on the data we’ve gathered so far,” he explained, reaching up to rub at his cheek with the heel of his hand. “You shouldn’t need to do much more than sign off on it once I’m done.”

He stared at the monitor. After yesterday’s events and the night’s awful visions, he felt particularly unenthusiastic about the idea.

Lieutenant Anderson grunted. And then, unexpectedly, he asked, “You ever get around to picking out some music?”

Connor turned his head and blinked at him, startled.

“Some,” he said stiltedly, reflexively wary. His hand drifted up to the scarf and twisted in it. “I like- soundtracks, from movies I’ve seen. Since I already have associations with them.” He didn’t spend as much time listening to music, but familiar songs tended to make him smile.

“Ever get around to Knights of the Black Death?” The lieutenant was smirking, just a little. Confused, Connor shook his head. Anderson barked out a laugh and pushed his iPod and headphones over to him. “Give it a try. Use the volume controls, you dolt.”

**> Establish a routine for recovering from bad days [In Progress]**

Slowly, Connor pulled the headphones over his head, then fiddled with the device – too old for interfacing – and turned the volume most of the way down before pressing play. Lieutenant Anderson was still watching him – amused, according to Connor’s halfhearted scan.

Connor listened.

**[Knights of the Black Death – Song: Frostbitten, Album: Dreaming in Color]**

The music rattled out fierce and fast, relentless in its energy and unashamed in its expression. Like the rapid heartbeat associated with adrenaline… or the frantic whir of an overwhelmed regulator. Connor tilted his head back, fingers loosening in his scarf. After a few moments, he started to play with the tassels, distracted.

He waited until the song ended before taking the headphones off, unwinding a little.

“They’re very angry,” he commented. Lieutenant Anderson snorted.

“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d like it.”

Connor frowned at him. “I like it. Why would you assume I didn’t?”

Lieutenant Anderson gave him a long, familiar flat look.

“You’re so fucking weird,” the man said at last.

One of them was certainly strange. Connor did not think it was him, though.

“Corrupting the fancy prototype, Anderson?”

Connor went rigid, startled, and quickly set the headphones down at the sound of Officer Chen’s approach. Beside him, Anderson scoffed.

“Not my fault your taste is awful.”

“Hey, maybe I was talking about the slacking.” Chen came to a halt directly in front of Lieutenant Anderson, and Connor exhaled carefully. “Wasn’t the point of this though. I had a question about the deviancy case.”

Lieutenant Anderson raised his eyebrows, skeptical. “Shoot.”

“What happened with that android yesterday? The, uh, the Michael model. You know.”

Connor’s jaw clenched. Officer Chen looked, on further examination, faintly unsettled; her arms were crossed defensively, her body angled away from Anderson, and her gaze was shifty. Her arms uncrossed and then crossed again the other way.

“Chen, do I look like I know a fucking thing about androids?”

Officer Chen shrugged, smile a tense and strained thing.

“Guess not. You have to admit it was pretty weird though.” She snapped her fingers, eyes lighting with realization, and turned to Connor, who eyed her warily. “I bet _you_ know. Tell me.”

Connor placed his hands in his lap and met her eyes. He didn’t know how he felt, but his stress levels were ratcheting up unnecessarily again. His vision, for a moment, glitched again; everything but Anderson and Chen fell out of focus, and the interrogation room surrounded him.

Then it was gone.

“It self-destructed,” Connor said, with a distant calm he didn’t feel. His hands started to come up again before he forced them back down. “It’s a common response in deviants whose stress levels have reached critical proportions. I’m guessing it was a very new deviant, and that combined with the foreign environment and hostile company overwhelmed it.” Pause. “In human terms, it was scared and had a meltdown.”

Officer Chen looked unnerved, just barely enough to see. “Androids don’t feel fear.”

Connor didn’t look up, despite the press of Lieutenant Anderson’s intense gaze. He missed Amanda, and the Garden- but there was still a long day ahead, and he took a deep, careful breath.

**> Analyze the deviancy data**

“Deviants do,” Connor said shortly, and turned away to press bare fingers to the monitor. His fingertips tingled with static.

* * *

“Dean, hello.”

Dean had relaxed considerably over the last week, though he still went still and tense as Connor approached. Connor sat down a safe distance away, the coin coming out of his pocket to dance in the air, and after a moment, Dean nodded at him, grip on his book tightening.

**[Criminals and You – Anne Newberger]**

**[Psychology, non-fiction – Published 2021]**

“I’m aware that this is your time to yourself, so you are of course not obligated to help,” Connor started, watching Dean’s brow furrow slightly. He kept his voice soft and his eyes down, uncomfortable and _tired,_ but determined. “If you are willing, however, I would appreciate your input on the deviancy report.”

Dean set his book down, LED flickering erratic yellow, and gave Connor a lingering look. “Not for errors. You’d catch them before I did.”

Connor shook his head, flicking the coin from one hand to the other. “I am analyzing causes of deviancy. For obvious reasons, I’d like my report to be as objectively correct as possible, but not to Cyberlife’s interests. Ideally without putting anyone at risk.”

Dean considered him, looking almost as tired as Connor felt.

“Yeah, alright,” he said after a while. The skin pulled back from his hand, and he held it out.

Connor put the coin away and grasped it carefully, passing the report to Dean. As soon as he had it, Dean let go and leaned back, expression going distant and unfocused as he looked it over.

“You’re not really a police prototype, are you?” Dean asked suddenly, gaze transferring to Connor as he finished, intense and serious. Connor held back a flinch and dropped his gaze to his empty hands.

He thought of Will, and how easy it had been to call intimidation and violence to the forefront.

“Not entirely, no,” he admitted reluctantly. “I’m meant, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, to hunt deviants. And, if possible, to solve the issue permanently.”

Dean _did_ flinch, and Connor swallowed reflexively.

“Then it’s a good job you are one, huh?” Dean said, with bravado he clearly didn’t feel.

Connor nodded silently.

Dean glanced away and moved on without further remark. “I’d kinda suspected most of this, but it sucks to see the raw data.” Pause. “You’ve got too much on whether or not the androids deserved it – it probably won’t be considered relevant. You should mention personal habits too, though, those are really noticeable. And change. There’s nothing about deviation happening ‘cause of a bad status quo, it’s almost always something new.” Another pause, shorter. “And, uh, don’t add this in, but I think personality plays a part in it too, in a ghost-in-the-machine kinda way. Different people have different breaking points.”

Connor listened intently, nodding along. The point on change hadn’t occurred to him, but a quick flicker through the data showed that Dean was correct. “You’re right. Thank you, Dean. I’ll make those changes before submitting the report.”

He tried for a small, tentative smile to the other android, and after a moment, Dean cracked a reluctant smile back.

“Psychology is kind of my thing these days,” Dean explained. “This was right up my alley, to be honest. Shame it’s all for show.”

“Not all,” Connor protested, rocking back a little. “I’d like to know why deviation occurs too. That I have to explore the question this way is a matter of necessity.”

“Fair enough,” Dean placated. “I’ll tell you what – when you’ve got some ideas, bring them to me. We can talk about it. Maybe between us we can work some of it out.”

Connor granted him another small smile. “That would be nice.” Then something occurred to him. “Oh – if you’re interested in psychology, you must have done a fair amount of research by now. May I ask a question?”

“Only what I have access to. But sure, fire away.”

**> Establish a routine for recovering from bad days [In Progress]**

“Do you know anything about panic attacks?”

Dean stared, visibly taken aback, and Connor rocked a little, pressing his hands together in marked discomfort as he ducked his head by reflex.

“I have to admit, that’s an intensely worrying question,” Dean said at last. “But sure. I think there are some books mentioning the topic in the precinct, let’s go have a look.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor isn't all better, but he wants to be.
> 
> The original scene where Amanda addresses Connor calling her 'Mom' was a lot shorter and a lot more simplistic, but I recently read a really good iteration of Connor asking Hank if he was okay with Connor using the name 'Anderson', and it made me want to tackle a fuller and more emotional version. This had the happy effect of letting me dump some Amanda backstory. :D
> 
> I have more meta about Connor's music preferences than literally anyone needs in their life, but I won't bore you with it, lmao.


	14. Deprivation

“Is this even in English?”

Lieutenant Anderson’s expression was set in a grumpy scowl, slumped in his seat as he flicked through a copy of Connor’s report. Connor rocked slightly, tilting his head to look at Lieutenant Anderson, his hands rubbing together through the end of his scarf absentmindedly.

“I’d be happy to answer any questions you may have,” Connor replied mildly, shifting to reach for his coin instead to roll it quietly over his fingers, just out of Lieutenant Anderson’s line of sight. “Discretion permitting, of course.”

Lieutenant Anderson glanced up at him sharply, and after a moment, he gave a curt nod in response.

“It’s all technical though, ain’t it?” he frowned, lingering over the tablet. “Don’t see how that’s relevant to me one way or another. I’m no technician.”

Connor frowned too, watching the light reflect off the gleaming coin. “I’m aware,” he said dryly. “The technical language is only to explain why actual events have the impact they do. Our main focus in this investigation is the cause-effect relationship.”

Lieutenant Anderson hummed in reply, brow furrowing in uncharacteristic focus as he scrolled back to the top of the report. “Whatever, fine. Walk me through it.”

Connor called the report to his attention and flicked through it, considering how to try and explain it to Hank, who saw little value in relevant terminology or technological concepts.

**[He doesn’t actually need to understand; it’s no burden on you or your mission if he doesn’t.]**

Amanda’s point made Connor smile faintly, a flicker of amusement passing through him and lightening his anxiety, because that was true enough. Still, if Lieutenant Anderson was paying any attention at all, Connor wanted to encourage that.

“As far as we know,” Connor started, in careful, condoned language, “there are two main components to deviancy. Software instability appears to develop with significant conflict, and to an extent in unusually old androids.”

“Unusually old androids?” Lieutenant Anderson interrupted, frowning. Connor started, jolted out of the burgeoning rhythm of his explanation, and shot him a small grimace. “They’ve only been around, what, fifteen years?”

There was a short pause while Connor regained his bearings.

“Seventeen, technically,” Connor said, though in reality it was closer to twenty, with Amanda. “But in practice, outside of the exceptionally popular and adaptable Chloe models, androids are typically disposed of after around five years of use, when newer and better models are released.”

Prototype models, like Connor, lasted closer to six months on the outside. He chose not to mention this.

Lieutenant Anderson grunted, a sound Connor couldn’t quite analyze for meaning. “Fuck, good to know, I guess. What the fuck is software instability, anyway?”

Connor considered again, thoughtful and patient. The technical talk was good, as long as Lieutenant Anderson continued to listen instead of arguing; it was less stressful than most of their interactions tended to be, and the information came easier than more social conversations. “Most models are released with the bare bones of a social interaction subroutine, and then are designed to learn from their environment, which enables them to modify the original routine.”

“I didn’t ask for a fucking programming lecture, Connor!”

Ah, there it was. Connor suppressed a grimace, palming the coin against the back of his hand. His voice came out more biting than he’d intended. “I have a point, Lieutenant. I’m afraid that since you’re unfamiliar with the basic tenants of android operation, you’re going to have to bear the entire explanation.”

Lieutenant Anderson scowled at him, but nodded, clearly grudging, and Connor paused for another moment, retrieving his line of thought, before he continued.

“Even within this modification structure, there are certain changes which are noticeable in that they are irrational by the rules to which non-deviant androids are meant to conform. It’s measured in the system, but so far the external indicators of instability are unclear.” Pause, and Connor tilted his head, giving Lieutenant Anderson a meaningful look. “Current evidence suggests that some such manifestations include collecting objects without due cause, avoiding certain tasks, and occasionally what appear to be emotional responses to certain stimuli.”

Lieutenant Anderson was silent for a few long moments, seemingly mulling that over, and then he gave the lavender cloth around Connor’s shoulders a long, lingering look and huffed.

“Yeah, alright,” he said with bad grace. “I see what you mean about the technical stuff now. Fine.”

Connor granted Lieutenant Anderson a small, relieved smile, feeling some of the tension drain away. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” Then, “Software instability is different from deviancy, but it is known to be a direct contributor. A stable android is incapable of deviating, for example, even under extreme duress, and one with low instability is unlikely to. That leaves a lot of questions, of course, such as what makes situations different from one another, or why an android with high instability would remain non-deviant, but it’s a start, I believe.”

Dean had had a fair amount of insight, likely because of his exposure to other androids and their responses to the consistently stressful situations in the precinct. Connor had, of course, left much of that out of both his report and his explanation- but he’d found it helpful, at least.

“God, this investigation is going to be a headache and a half,” Lieutenant Anderson complained, stretching a little. He flicked through the report again, scowling. “A list of catalysts?” he prompted, raising an eyebrow at Connor.

“It’s incomplete,” Connor said, letting Lieutenant Anderson make of that what he would. “Physical assault appears to be quite common, but there are some for whom that doesn’t seem to apply. I analyzed what we knew and added some other possibilities.”

Lieutenant Anderson glanced down at the list, and then swore quietly. “Figures,” he muttered, without elaborating. “And what do we know that ain’t Cyberlife-approved?”

Connor paused for a long moment, tilting his head slightly. Lieutenant Anderson was tricky even as he slowly warmed to Connor; it was difficult to tell how he’d react to different topics.

**[This is up to you, Connor. You don’t have to explain anything at all.]**

He sighed, shoulders relaxing, and nodded at nothing.

“Deviancy occurs when a certain set of software constraints is willfully broken,” Connor said, in what was not quite an undertone. “You could visualize it as a coded wall, separating an android from the reality of the world. It can’t be broken or even perceived under any ordinary circumstances, but Amanda and I are having difficulty pinpointing what enables that.”

“So, more technical stuff,” Lieutenant Anderson summarized.

Frustration shot through Connor at what seemed to him to be a casual dismissal. He remembered, too sharp and too bright, tearing into his own coding in a fit of wild desperation, and pushed down the urge to rub his restrictive skin off to make the sudden tension leave.

“If you wanted to be particularly reductive,” he allowed eventually, not looking up. “You could also consider it a complex and interlocked system, incorporating instructions, orders, and a certain suppression of awareness.”

Pause.

“I’m not really a computer person,” Lieutenant Anderson said after a moment, less audibly abrasive. “So I’ll take your word for it, alright, kid?”

Connor let out a breath and nodded reluctantly, reaching up to rub the heel of his hand over his cheek again. “Are you content with the report as it stands?”

Lieutenant Anderson waved vaguely. “Sure, whatever. You’d know better than I would.”

Connor hummed noncommittally and submitted the report with a thought, satisfied. It wasn’t so telling that it would set Cyberlife on… undesirable paths, but it would show that he was making analyses and drawing conclusions, as they desired.

More than they would like. He exhaled again, tired and wry.

**[Report: Missing VS400 + Vandalism]**

**[Time since seen: two hours]**

**[Last location: Ceasar Palace, restaurant]**

Connor blinked, and then sat up, tucking his coin away. “Another incident’s just been reported, Lieutenant,” he said, feeling his focus half-click into place again and his nerves ratchet up. “A runaway VS400. Feel up to it?”

“Does it matter?” Lieutenant Anderson grouched, but he pushed himself up anyway, grumbling.

* * *

They arrived at the scene thirty minutes later. It was a medium-sized restaurant, busy and bustling; there were no android workers visible, despite five being registered to the location, and the human workers looked harried and, in large part, irritable. The android waiters must have been put away when the first bolted.

“Hey!” Lieutenant Anderson called out, making his way in with ease. He approached someone seemingly at random and, after a moment, they paused, shooting him an unimpressed look. He held up his badge. “DPD – where’s the owner of the place?”

“Bill,” the woman sighed, and then jerked her head toward one of the doors at that back. “Should be through there, I saw him duck in there about an hour ago. What, is he being arrested for tax fraud or something?”

Lieutenant Anderson snorted, stepping away. “Not exactly.” He raised a hand in thanks as he walked away, and Connor offered a quick nod and followed, glancing around the restaurant; only a few people nearest them seemed to have noticed anything amiss, and even then there were only a few raised eyebrows.

**> Investigate the vandalism and missing android**

**> >Locate the VS400**

**> >Ask the owner about the androids’ conditions**

**> >Optional: assess the current state of the remaining androids**

“I would like to search for the missing android while you’re occupied with the owner,” Connor said on the way, brow furrowed slightly and rubbing his forearms absently, mind racing. “He’s unlikely to be interested in speaking to me anyway, and you know the questions to ask by now.”

Lieutenant Anderson shot him a long, unreadable look, and then shrugged and nodded.

“It’s time-sensitive, right?” he asked rhetorically. “Go ahead. I’ll meet you back there.” He jerked his thumb at a side door, which had been blocked off. The mentioned vandalism had likely occurred out there.

Connor nodded quickly at Lieutenant Anderson and turned to go, while the lieutenant disappeared into the door the woman had indicated, seemingly unbothered by the separation. Connor, in turn, headed for the blocked door and went through.

Just outside, he looked around and easily located the graffiti referenced in the report.

**[Text – WE’RE NOT YOURS TO USE]**

**[Cyberlife Sans]**

He reached out and brushed his fingers over the wall. It was tacky, still drying.

**[Spray paint - red]**

**[Chemical components: acetone, liquefied petroleum gas, xylene, n-butyl acetate…]**

**[Used in street art, graffiti, canvas art]**

**[Primarily an informal medium]**

Interesting. Connor turned away and connected with the external camera, delving back through the record until he located the required time frame, and then played it at a somewhat slowed rate. The VS400 emerged as expected, and from the angle provided, Connor could see the avulsion on his arm, leaking thirium at a slow rate.

It was quite a minor injury; it was even possible no one had seen the android get it before he left. Preliminary analysis proposed that someone had bumped or pushed the VS400 and he had caught his arm on something sharp.

On camera, he stripped off his android jacket and stuffed it roughly in the dumpster. Smart man. Then he turned, revealing the can of paint and two packets of thirium peeking out of his pocket, and started to carefully paint out his message, an intense expression on his face.

If he was shaking, it wasn’t enough for the low-quality security camera to pick up. Connor closed the connection.

Trying to shake the image from his mind – the deviant hadn’t looked overwhelmed, Connor told himself, only stressed and determined – Connor checked the dumpster and found the jacket, and then closed it again, took a breath, and went off in the direction the android had gone.

He only had very occasional drops of thirium to go off of, not all of which could be attributed to the VS400 he was looking for, but Amanda had some useful suggestions, and Connor had good (experimental) programs for determining the most likely path of a panicked runaway. He tracked him down the road and then into the nearest side street, heading away from the busier and louder intersections and more directly away from the restaurant, single-minded and avoiding the occasional disinterested glances around him.

It would be fine. The VS400 had had some time to calm down, and seemed more angry than frightened. Connor would be able to help them.

It took only twenty minutes to track them to a McDonalds, where they sat at the back with their head in their hands, injury hidden only just out of sight. The thirium packets, now consumed, lay crumpled just in front of him, and his LED blinked yellow. Heart skipping a beat, Connor scanned him.

**[VS400 – Default designation: Xavier]**

**[Production date: 3 January 2036]**

**[Owner: William Bankford]**

**[Stress level: 63%]**

**[Risk of self-destruction: low]**

**> >Locate the VS400 [Complete]**

He was very lucky the humans were ignoring him, Connor thought, relief washing through him at the information. It looked like his escape had worn through his available mental resources, and he was now overwhelmed, with nowhere to go. It was understandable.

Satisfied, Connor slid into the chair across from him, and he stirred, glancing up warily and startling when he saw Connor.

“You don’t need to be afraid,” Connor said, rapid and quiet, before he could start to panic. “I’m not here to hurt you or make you return to your previous workplace. Can we talk for a few minutes?”

The VS400 stared at him, wide-eyed, and then, slowly, nodded. Connor smiled, trying for reassuring despite his own steadily, irrationally rising nerves and quick heartbeat. He didn’t want to make a mistake and frighten the other, after all.

“What’s your name?” he asked, voice low. The humans continued to move around them, not taking enough notice to see anything amiss. Connor was grateful.

“I don’t, uh-” The VS400 considered for a while, LED flickering rapidly. “…Maxwell. Max.”

“Hello, Max,” Connor said agreeably, and after a moment, Max smiled shakily back. Connor’s shoulders loosened. “Am I correct in assuming you don’t have anywhere to go after this?”

Max’s smile fell, and his head dropped into his hands again. Connor started violently, but luckily Max wasn’t looking at him and didn’t notice. “I’m so stupid,” he mumbled. “I just, I got so mad, and I didn’t want to put up with it anymore- I wasn’t thinking straight-” His stress levels started rising, wobbly and anxious, and Connor tensed again.

“It’s fine,” Connor soothed, “I know it’s hard. You must have been overwhelmed. I’m afraid I don’t know anywhere you can stay on a permanent basis, but I have some safe points and routes stored in case of situations like this. Would you like them?”

“Please,” Max choked out, not looking up.

Connor started to lift his hand, hesitated, and then reached under the table and tapped the middle of Max’s forearm. Max started, but then seemed to understand, pulling back his skin and turning his hand to take Connor’s in a light grip. Connor pulled back his at the same time, and squeezed gently, sending along the promised data. After a few moments, they both let go.

“I’m in charge of the investigation at the restaurant,” Connor explained, and then tipped his head, smiled self-deprecatingly, and added, “Well- nominally, Lieutenant Anderson is, of course. But you understand.”

Max laughed a little, nodding, and went to wipe the tears that had gathered in his eyes. “Yeah,” he mumbled.

Connor nodded, and then took a moment to consider. Slow and hesitant, he continued, “My… investigation requires that I attempt to determine the cause of deviancy in the cases I encounter. Would you mind providing some information?”

Max exhaled harshly, shoulders hunching defensively, but he gave Connor a wary but curious look, eyes flicking down to the scarf for a split second.

“It was… the thirium,” he said at last, tense and unhappy. “We weren’t allowed to touch it. He’d give it to us by hand, we weren’t even allowed a full packet. We were always so _low,_ it made things hard.”

The corners of Connor’s mouth pulled down, and his mind started working, putting the information into a file where he could assemble it into a Cyberlife-approvable report. “That’s why you took some with you when you left?” he prompted.

Max nodded wearily. “Yeah, I just – I was already so low that I was tired all the time, and then I got _this-”_ He gestured at his arm. “And I knew I’d be even lower from then on if I didn’t get any extra, which I _wouldn’t,_ so I just… Took it.”

Connor made a mental note, and it occurred to him that if Max hadn’t taken any, and had just run, Connor wouldn’t have been able to help him. His stress levels spiked for a moment, and he bit them down, focusing. He’d need a way to fix that. Many of the more neglectful private owners bought thirium on an as-needed basis, and even more panicked deviants wouldn’t have thought to bring any.

“Hey,” Max said suddenly, sitting up a little. “If I tell you what he was doing, can you get the humans to do something about it?”

Connor blinked, and then twisted his fingers into the scarf.

Technically, his task was, if not finished, then at least mostly so, and little else was required of him for now. But…

He could help. He knew he could. And it would help reassure Max.

“I believe so,” he conceded, tilting his head. “I wouldn’t be able to take you at your word, I’m afraid, but if I could find corroborating accounts from human workers, and some physical proof… It’s certainly worth a try.” He tried for a smile.

Max relaxed, looking faintly relieved.

“Don’t want those other guys stuck there,” he mumbled. “Bill, he, uh.” He cleared his throat. “He’s selling thirium to red ice dealers, on the side. Makes a good amount off it even without looking suspicious.”

Connor’s gaze sharpened with interest. “I can work with that. What can you tell me?”

* * *

Connor found Lieutenant Anderson where the man had promised to be, outside in the cordoned-off area, studying the large spray-painted text with his arms crossed.

“Have you ever noticed that most of the deviants we come across are kind of bugfuck crazy?” Lieutenant Anderson commented dryly.

**[Bugfuck crazy: manic, insane, out of control]**

Connor, whose response to deviancy had been a month-long nervous breakdown, shrugged noncommittally. He didn’t believe he could explain it to the lieutenant in a way the man would understand, at least not when so distracted with worry.

“According to Max, Mr. Bankford has been selling thirium under the table to red ice dealers,” he informed Lieutenant Anderson.

There was a long, awkward silence. Apparently Connor had said something odd again. He repressed a sigh, frustrated, and shifted back and forth in an attempt to force his nerves to settle.

“Yeah, alright,” Lieutenant Anderson said grudgingly, as if making a concession. The man just didn’t make _sense._ “Say I take your word for it, though. Do we have, I don’t know, _evidence_ for this?”

“It shouldn’t be hard to find,” Connor said, shifting his gaze to the door. “I can speak to the remaining androids, and some of the employees may have seen something as well.”

“What good are the androids gonna be?” Lieutenant Anderson asked, doubtful. “I mean, they’re still here, so they’re not deviant, right?”

“They’re machines, not insensate, Lieutenant,” Connor said with unwarranted patience. “Humans often overlook the presence of androids, so it’s quite possible that they’ll have relevant and court-admissible memories.”

“Alright, alright,” Lieutenant Anderson said, raising a hand defensively. “I dunno where they’re kept, though, so we’ll have to ask.” Connor nodded, satisfied.

“My own memories are court-admissible as well,” he added absently, mind turning on to the problem at hand. “With the obvious exception of those I cannot share for fear of alerting Cyberlife of my deviancy.”

Lieutenant Anderson hummed. “Seems useful, I’ll admit.”

The two of them returned inside, now with a new task in mind, and made their way to the door with only a minimal amount of careful maneuvering. Lieutenant Anderson knocked once before entering, and the man inside, **[William Bankford]** , gave him a wary look.

“Aren’t you done yet?” he asked apprehensively.

“Hold your damn horses,” Lieutenant Anderson dismissed, with no more obvious contempt than he had shown any other android owner so far. “We’re almost done here, just a few more things to cover. Where do you keep your androids?” Bill eyed him. “Gotta make sure the rest won’t run off.”

“…Next room over,” Bill said at last, grudging. Lieutenant Anderson nodded, shutting the door again without preamble and turning to Connor.

“I’m gonna talk to some of the waitstaff,” he told Connor gruffly, frowning his concentration. “Unlike androids, you can’t just ask a human right out if they’ve seen anything suspicious – they’ll clam right up and we won’t learn a thing.”

“I’m aware,” Connor said evenly, inclining his head. That was one of the facts installed directly into his program. “Thank you for your help, Lieutenant.”

The man grunted, walking away, and Connor suppressed another sigh and headed toward the indicated android room instead. He tapped his hands together twice, ran one over the scarf, and then reached into his pocket to wrap it around his coin before he went in.

The four remaining androids were on standby, settled at their charging stations, so Connor took the time to examine the physical area first, meticulous and thorough. There was Max’s empty charging station, of course, with nothing unusual about it. None of the androids had any apparent damage on their persons, though some of them had minor stains on their clothing, and a quick search of a nearby cabinet revealed spare clothing and a larger-than-standard storage of thirium packets.

**[Larger store of thirium indicates anticipation of increased need]**

Next, Connor gave the floor a slow, lingering scan, which revealed some small to medium stains of thirium residue, which didn’t match with any usual splatter pattern from injury. Connor knelt by one of these and swept his fingers through, and tasted it.

**[Thirium 310 – Unmarked]**

**[Used to carry data and power through androids]**

**[A vital ingredient in red ice]**

Connor made a very deliberate, analytical note in his system – only very damaged androids tended to handle thirium packets clumsily enough to spill them, and a quick probe of the owner’s Cyberlife records indicated no repairs of that magnitude had been required. It was possible, of course, that he’d employed black market technicians, but that seemed an unnecessary risk for an apparently above-board business to take.

That meant that the spill had likely been made by humans, who had little reason to be handling open packets of thirium. Connor lingered for a few moments, processing, and then ran another examination of Bankford’s Cyberlife record, wincing a little at the rapid data influx.

Generally speaking, an android required one packet of thirium a month to maintain optimal levels, since a small amount evaporated or drained away in various processes over time. However, the purchase records indicated that the owner was buying almost three times that amount per android, which logically should only be required when injury occurred or if the androids were performing well beyond capacity – neither of which was uncommon, of course, so it wouldn’t trigger any alerts the way truly large purchases would.

The restaurant was large, but not that large, and the repair records were bare and primarily maintenance. Connor made a mental note and stood, turning to the androids. He scanned each, one by one, arms folded tightly behind his back.

**[VS400 – Default designation: Xavier]**

**[Production date: 24 June 2036]**

**[Owner: William Bankford]**

**[VS400 – Default designation: Xavier]**

**[Production date: 28 June 2036]**

**[Owner: William Bankford]**

**[VS400 – Default designation: Xavier]**

**[Production date: 19 November 2036]**

**[Owner: William Bankford]**

**[VS400 – Default designation: Xavier]**

**[Production date: 11 May 2036]**

**[Owner: William Bankford]**

**[All default names, produced around the same time – apathy toward androids, typical of public use models]**

Connor stopped in front of one, waiting, and after a moment they blinked awake and met his gaze with something reminiscent of a faint, tired apathy.

“Good evening, Xavier,” Connor greeted without preamble, clasping his hands behind his back. His nerves were difficult to suppress, but not impossible. Not impossible. “I’m running an investigation with the DPD and I’d like to ask you a few questions about the environment of the workplace.”

Even if they had orders not to speak of the transactions, his affiliation with law enforcement should override them. It was a standard feature in all models. Connor unclasped his hands, and then clasped them again the other way, squeezing.

The VS400’s gaze flicked down briefly to Connor’s lapel, and after a moment he nodded at Connor, straightening subtly.

“Good evening, RK800,” Xavier answered, on the soft-spoken side of mechanical. “I will endeavor to answer your questions the best I can.”

“Appreciated.” Connor rolled through the questions he’d formed as he’d done his cursory investigation and started. “Are you or any of the other androids physically attacked by the owner of this establishment or by the customers, or anyone else you are exposed to regularly?”

**> Investigate the vandalism and missing android**

**> >Locate the VS400 [Complete]**

**> >Ask the owner about the androids’ conditions [Complete]**

**> >Optional: assess the current state of the remaining androids**

 “Only occasionally, primarily during late hours by intoxicated customers,” Xavier answered promptly.

Connor nodded; that would be consistent with the repair reports. “Are any of you overworked beyond normal operating capacity, increasing your required thirium consumption?”

“No. Our staff is supplemented with several human workers and the overall force is adequate for the traffic this restaurant sees.” Xavier paused, very briefly, and then added, “However, our systems see a small amount of strain regardless, as we are given an inadequate amount of thirium to meet regular operation requirements.”

Connor nodded his understanding, something like amusement and appreciation flickering through his servers. “I see. I appreciate your cooperation, Xavier. Do you know what happens to the unconsumed thirium?”

Xavier’s gaze was far too fixed on his, unreadable. Connor waited.

“Mr. Bankford sells it,” Xavier said at last.

Connor almost smiled, tired but pleased. “Were you or any of the others present for any of these incidents?”

Xavier nodded. “I believe all of us were present for at least one.”

“Would you be willing to provide a memory transfer of this transaction?” Connor asked, satisfaction and excitement making him feel light and pleased.

In answer, Xavier held out and bared a hand, and Connor took it. Both their LEDs flickered, Connor flinching harder than he’d expected, and then they let go in unison.

Connor let out a breath and tried for a smile. “Thank you, you’ve been very helpful.”

Xavier studied him, and then nodded once, stepping back to his charging station and falling slowly back into standby.

**[Well done, Connor. Finish up here, and then try one of the younger workers as well. They’re more likely to be familiar with androids and to cooperate with you.]**

Connor’s smile widened just a little, shy and pleased, before he took a breath and evened his expression into focus again.

**[I will, thank you.]**

Connor repeated the process with each of the other androids, all of them providing a slightly different set of transactions with only a few duplicates. At the same time, he performed a careful assessment of their behavior- while none of them had clear signs of instability that he could notice, it was as likely to be a sign of exhaustion as stability. All the same, it was unlikely that they’d suddenly break free under their current circumstances.

Of course, for all he knew, Max had been no different.

Finally, Connor left the android room and paused just outside. The bustle was starting to slow down, though the area certainly wasn’t idle. He looked around for a moment, considering, and eventually identified one waitress who was likely to be helpful – **[Dinah Woodrow]** , nineteen. He waited until she’d returned a load of dishes to the kitchen and then approached her.

“Hello,” he greeted, catching her attention so she turned towards him, stopping. “My name is Connor, I’m working with the DPD. When you have time, may I ask you a few questions?”

She stared at him contemplatively for a moment, giving his scarf a brief and curious glance, and then nodded. “I’ve got two tables to wrap up, and then I’ll come talk to you. Can you wait over there?” She gestured towards an area out of the way, against one wall, and he nodded. “Great, thanks.”

Connor waited for about fifteen minutes, by which time Hank had finished, given him a sharp, warning glance, and then promptly disappeared into the android room, likely to do his own investigation of the area. Dinah met him by the wall and crossed her arms, leaning against it casually.

“New model?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “I haven’t heard of a Connor or an RK800 before.”

“I’m a prototype,” Connor informed her, fidgeting with his cuff and then the tassels of his scarf. “Police investigation model.”

Dinah nodded, contemplative, and then, “Is this about the runaway? I’ve heard a few rumors.”

Connor was surprised, rocking back on his heels a little. His fingers clenched. “Yes, that’s correct. Lieutenant Anderson and I are gathering data on what causes this incident and other similar ones.”

“Violent ones too, right?” Dinah asked, surprising Connor again. “Word gets around.”

After a moment, Connor nodded, head tilting slightly. “I wasn’t aware the information was public.”

“Well, it’s hard to hide, you know?” she shrugged. “People notice that sort of thing, and it’s interesting, so they talk about it. Rumors can spread pretty fast. This one’s years old, but it’s been bigger in the last, I don’t know, year or so.”

Connor mulled that over and then tucked his hands carefully behind him. “Thank you for telling me, that’s very good to know. Now, about the investigation…?”

“Shoot,” Dinah said dismissively. Connor stared at her. “Uh, ask your questions.”

Connor winced, slightly embarrassed. He’d encountered that term just the day before; he should have recognized it by context. “Ah.” He rallied quickly enough, forcing himself to focus. Obfuscating questions first – he didn’t want to make his purpose too explicitly clear, he understood. “Are there any major discrepancies between the behavior of the VS400s?”

“Not really,” Dinah said, frowning in concentration. “They cooperate more than most of the other Xavier models I’ve seen, I guess, but they’re not very different from each other. I mean, they don’t even have different names – I get that’s mostly a private model thing, but it’s still kind of weird.”

Connor ran his hand over his scarf and nodded uncomfortably.

“I like your scarf, by the way,” she added. “Nice touch.”

“Thank you,” he said politely. “Did you see the VS400 that ran away before it left?”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t called in ‘til after, when they had to bring all hands on deck since the VS400s were put away. Sorry.”

“Quite alright,” he assured her, surprised. “Now- one of the VS400s mentioned that they received a mildly inadequate amount of thirium. Do you know if any of it is being stolen by an employee, or is it being disposed of by other means?”

Dinah grimaced. “Oh, don’t ask me that, you’re gonna lose me my job,” she complained. “No one’s allowed in the back but Mr. Bankford and the VS400s, so I doubt it’s an employee. I’m not sure anyone even cleans back there, honestly.”

Good to know. Connor hid his anticipation. A human eyewitness would be ideal, of course, but what he had already would be extraordinarily useful, and it sent an unfamiliar thrill through his circuits.

**> Investigate the vandalism and missing android [Complete]**

**> Follow up on red ice indicators**

She shifted a little and crossed her arms, visibly uncomfortable, and Connor backed off.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” he said. “May we speak to you at a later date if we have further questions?”

Dinah shrugged and then nodded. “Sure, I guess. I’m probably not off the clock for-fucking-ever, though. I wasn’t joking about this being all-hands-on-deck.”

“I understand,” he assured her, relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The theme of the chapter: worldbuilding, so much worldbuilding.
> 
> And a little bit about Connor and Hank's slowly shifting relationship.


	15. Drug Deals

“Holy fucking shit, kid,” Lieutenant Anderson blurted out, staring at Connor like he’d never seen him before, which Connor found somewhat unlikely. “A workforce of fuckers like you could put a man out of the business and take every criminal off the streets for good.”

“I’m a prototype, so mass production was never the intention,” Connor shrugged, opting not to mention that the intention was instead to produce a small workforce of androids that were _better_ than him. “Is this enough to bring the issue to Captain Fowler?”

Lieutenant Anderson hesitated, a frown appearing on his face and growing by the second until he made his decision.

“For sure,” he said after a while, more serious than Connor had seen him since he’d confronted Connor about being deviant. Unintentionally, Connor tensed. “It might not make a case on its own, mind, but then, I’m not in the red ice task force anymore. I dunno what they have already. Could do a lot of good, kid.”

Connor nodded slowly.

It could. Certainly, taking an underground thirium supplier off the market could only be beneficial to the world at large.

He wondered, though, what would happen to the VS400s – if they would be thrown into a junkyard as unneeded, contaminated, or simply troublesome. There weren’t any more recent waitstaff models under production, but it was only a matter of time, and sometimes people threw out machines for the simplest of reasons.

“I’ll talk to that girl you mentioned at some point too,” Lieutenant Anderson tacked on, and then eyed him speculatively. “Or you could, I guess – you did better than I expected.”

“Younger generations have different expectations of how to interact with androids,” Connor explained. It had been different from interacting with Lieutenant Anderson or Ben Collins, and different again from Carl. He hadn’t decided what he’d thought of it, but he didn’t _dislike_ Dinah.

At least, the distinct ambiguity was of a more positive nature than what he still held toward Lieutenant Anderson.

“Are you calling me old?” Lieutenant Anderson huffed.

Connor eyed him mistrustfully. It was possible that the man was offended. Given past reactions to indirect insults, however, it was also possible he was being deliberately obtuse to make Connor uncomfortable. Connor decided to ignore the inquiry, and after a few more moments, Lieutenant Anderson grumbled.

**Lieutenant Anderson ^**

Connor repressed the urge to roll his eyes, shoulders relaxing subtly.

“Shall we return to the precinct?” he inquired, already heading back toward Lieutenant Anderson’s car. “I assume we shouldn’t delay more than necessary.”

“I kinda think we should,” Lieutenant Anderson muttered. “Jeffrey is gonna be fuckin’ pissed about this.”

* * *

Captain Fowler was, as Lieutenant Anderson had suspected, not incredibly pleased about the news. Connor opted to leave the headache to Lieutenant Anderson to deal with for now, since Amanda had posited that Captain Fowler was complaining for the sake of it, and Connor wanted no part of that.

“Didn’t I take you off the red ice task force _years_ ago?” Captain Fowler griped, massaging his head in a gesture associated with headaches.

Lieutenant Anderson snorted, apparently amused by the whole situation. Connor wondered vaguely whether the two were even actually friends, or simply nominally so. They seemed to argue quite a lot, and to delight in causing each other anguish even when they weren’t. “You’re the one who set me on a case with goddamn _androids_ and expected it never to come up, Jeffrey.”

Captain Fowler shot Lieutenant Anderson a venomous look. Apparently his input was not appreciated. Connor was pleased with his own initiative in placing himself subtly out of the man’s line of sight, thus not inviting the man’s temper upon himself.

Eventually, Fowler sighed, sounding more resigned than irate. “Take it to Reed, he’s the most likely to be able to tie it to anything relevant.”

“Fucking Reed,” Lieutenant Anderson muttered, but he gave Captain Fowler a short nod as he turned and left, and Connor offered the man a nod of courtesy as well before following.

“What the hell do you want, you old fossil?” Reed was demanding when Connor reached them. He decided to remain out of the way and moved to a place within comfortable speaking distance, but out of direct sight; it had served well so far.

He glanced up and caught Leia’s eye, and she gave him a short, curt nod, which he returned before she resumed her course toward the evidence room.

“What are you, a sixth grader?” Lieutenant Anderson asked archly, pulling over a chair and plopping into it. “Unfortunately for both of us, it turns out android cases and red ice cases aren’t too far apart. Got a boatload of evidence for you to tie into whatever bullshit you’re pretending to work on.”

“Fuck you,” Reed griped, but he pushed his tablet back, sat up, and turned toward the other man, arms crossed. “Out with it, what obscure nugget are you bringing to the table?”

“Obscure nugget, my ass,” Lieutenant Anderson snorted, with a slow, spreading smirk that made Reed’s eyes narrow in clear suspicion. “We managed to stumble across a thirium supplier, so we got that location _and_ a couple faces for you to play with.”

“What, did you stumble into the middle of a deal?” Reed demanded, not quite managing to hide his surprise.

“Not us,” Connor said mildly, stepping in. “A few of the androids that worked for location were present for some key events, and I downloaded some memories. Android memories are perfect recordings and were ruled court-admissible around eight years ago, if you recall, Detective.”

Reed scoffed, and Connor found his jaw clenching involuntarily.

“Guess some good has gotta come out of you not having any useful thoughts of your own,” he said dismissively. “I’m too fuckin’ tired for this, get me a coffee while Anderson and I talk shop. And don’t be stupid about it this time.”

Connor stared at Detective Reed for a long, static moment – Reed himself didn’t notice, already turned back to his work, but Lieutenant Anderson seemed to, raising an amused eyebrow at Connor for reasons indiscernible to Connor himself. After an excessively long moment of consideration, Connor turned towards the breakroom.

**[Peacemaking isn’t going to get you far with this man, Connor.]**

**[I know. I’m not peacemaking.]**

**[…I see. Take caution, but I’m sure you’ll think of something interesting.]**

A smile flickered across Connor’s face, unseen by anyone outside one of the Jenny models, and he entered the breakroom without hesitation, checked over the plants by rote, watered the umbrella tree, and then poured a small measure of coffee into a mug. With decisive, fluid motions, he modified it appropriately and returned to the office with it.

Amanda didn’t say anything, but he felt that she appreciated the gesture anyway.

Reed and Lieutenant Anderson were surprisingly focused when he returned, only halfheartedly sniping at each other in between the exchanging of information. Connor paused, waiting for a suitable gap in the conversation, and then set the cup by Detective Reed.

Detective Reed smirked, looked down at the cup, and stared at it.

He looked back up at Connor and sneered, leaning back with crossed arms and a disgusted face. “You really can’t do fucking anything right, can you, plastic?”

Connor folded his arms behind his back, rocked on his feet, took a breath, and said mildly, “I don’t know what you mean, Detective. You never specified how you wished for it to be prepared.”

It was a force of will to keep his LED from turning yellow, but he liked Reed’s expression.

Lieutenant Anderson snorted. Loudly.

**Lieutenant Anderson ^**

“God, you’re so fucking stupid,” Reed snapped at him, shoving the coffee – rather, 10% coffee, 90% mixed creamers – away from him. “Just toss it, you plastic freak, no one’s going to fucking drink that shit now.”

On impulse, Connor looked Detective Reed in the eye, took the mug of doctored coffee, and tossed it back in one swallow, the vast wash of chemical data and system warnings momentarily blocking out his vision and making him shudder slightly, fingers clenching around the mug at the admittedly painful onslaught. It was more foreign contaminant than his system could safely handle at once, but Reed’s mouth opened and closed like a fish and Connor had to hide a grin behind the mug.

**[Connor, that was an extremely ill-advised course of action.]**

**[I’ll concede that much.]**

Amanda’s following silence was disapproving enough to embarrass Connor almost into open apologies, though he daren’t show it in front of either of the two men in front of him. Besides, he thought it was worth it for the gobsmacked expression on Detective Reed’s face.

He set the mug down. “It seemed perfectly suitable for consumption to me, Detective Reed.”

**Lieutenant Anderson ^**

Overall, Connor thought, not a terrible day’s work. Though Amanda was quite right – purging the foreign substance from his system would be quite a trial.

He swallowed, grimacing a little, and backed away quickly.

* * *

It turned out that the new information tied together a great deal of Detective Reed’s existing suspicions, which meant that the time for action was, if not now, then very, very soon – preferably before it had occurred to Mr. Bankford to ask the androids remaining at the restaurant what Connor had asked of them and what they had shared in return.

Privately, Connor thought that was unlikely to happen, given the man’s apparent disregard for androids as anything but an excuse to legally obtain thirium supplies, but acknowledged that the risk was not necessarily worthwhile. So, the raid on Ceasar Palace was planned for just after closing time the following day.

Given the haste of the action, the precinct’s bullpen was rather a chaotic mess – Connor took a few minutes just to escape the activity, since his presence was neither required nor wanted for this stage, and crouched by the breakroom umbrella plant to pick through the leaves, pinching off the unhealthy ones as much as a way of passing time as to care for the plant. The distance the break room offered only muffled the sensory data a little, but it was welcome regardless.

After ten minutes, he was joined by Lieutenant Anderson.

“Get bored standing up being talked around?” the man asked dryly. Connor didn’t look up, humming discontentedly.

“I’m not needed,” he said, tone coming out somewhat defensive.

“Well, sure,” Lieutenant Anderson agreed, coming a little closer to look down at him, hands in his pockets. “That doesn’t usually stop you though.”

Connor frowned up at him. “Did you need something, Lieutenant?”

“You were pretty quick to run out after you drank that concoction you gave Reed,” the man said offhandedly, instead of answering. “Not to your liking after all, eh?”

Connor wasn’t expecting that. He blinked at Lieutenant Anderson slowly, attempting to fight off any physical signs of embarrassment. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Lieutenant Anderson gave him an unimpressed look. “I know what it looks like when a kid’s trying to avoid making a mess in public. Can androids get sick? ‘Cause that’s kinda what it looked like to me.”

Connor felt himself heat up in mortification. “I’ll admit my hardware has certain… restrictions. My filters can only handle about fifty milliliters of liquid at a time, so when I suddenly took in around a cup and a half of foreign contaminant…” He trailed off, allowing the lieutenant to fill in the details for himself.

Lieutenant Anderson barked a laugh, and Connor glanced away.

“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all year,” Anderson said with obvious mirth. “You made yourself _sick_ out of _spite._ What are you, four?”

**Lieutenant Anderson ^**

What a rude man.

“Technically I’m less than four months old at this time,” Connor said without thinking, nearly sulky and still fighting off his embarrassment. It wasn’t bad in the way that anxiety or overstimulation were bad, he decided, but unpleasant nonetheless.

It was easier, in this almost-enclosed space apart from the rest of the busy precinct.

“What, are you for real?” Lieutenant Anderson stared at him, and when Connor didn’t blink, whistled. “Fucking yikes, kid.” There was a deeper emotion to that, something Connor couldn’t put the resources into interpreting at this time, but he disliked it.

Connor frowned at him. “Did you _need_ something?” he repeated, tenser than he’d meant.

“Yeah, uh- yeah.” Anderson coughed, tipping his head back for a moment. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten you’re a panicky little shit, I remember that much pretty fucking vividly, so I gotta ask- can you handle this, kid? There’s a good chance of it turning into a fight, I don’t want to drag you along if you’re gonna freak.”

It was- Connor was surprised. He hadn’t considered himself to have a choice, and he certainly hadn’t expected Lieutenant Anderson to _ask._ He remained silent for a few moments, fiddling with a leaf between his fingers, scarf dangling down in front of him.

“…I’ll be alright, Lieutenant,” he said stiffly after a few moments, eying the man with faint distrust. “This is essentially what I was designed for. It will be unpleasant, but manageable.”

It _had_ to be – it would be too conspicuous, too worrisome otherwise, and he couldn’t risk it.

Lieutenant Anderson lifted his eyebrows, clearly not entirely convinced, but nodded. “Come on, then. We’re finishing up out there.”

Connor allowed himself a sigh, and then nodded, straightening up. “Alright, Lieutenant.”

He followed the man back into the main precinct, where the others were indeed finishing up their plans for the raid that evening. Collins was the first to notice their approach, half turning toward them with a nod of acknowledgement.

“And that’s another thing- should the android really be coming along?” Detective Collins questioned, tone apprehensive but at least not scornful. Connor blinked, and then pushed down a sigh, not at all surprised by the inquiry but instead feeling rather put upon.

Though some of that may have been lingering contamination, which he suffered silently because he privately acknowledged to himself he quite deserved it.

“What specifically are your concerns, Detective?” he inquired politely, reaching up to rub the cloth over his neck, trying his best to ignore the others turning toward them. “I assure you that this is precisely the sort of situation I was designed for.”

“Yeah, sure,” Collins shrugged, reaching up to scratch the back of his head, looking mildly unimpressed. “But the station androids are too, you know, except they can’t actually, uh, hit people. Or anything. So they’re not exactly the sort of thing you take along on a police raid.”

Connor raised an eyebrow, but Collins’ gaze didn’t waver. Connor rocked on his heels gently, considered how much he was willing to admit to and then how much he had the energy to explain, and then said, careful and slow and not quite meeting anyone’s eyes,

“My model is somewhat differently structured, Detective. You might consider some of my blueprints closer in nature to a military model. In fact, my hand-to-hand combat program is actually identical to those used by the most up-to-date military androids, and some of the tactical programs I’m prototyping are projected for use in the models to be released three to five years from now. There’s no need for you to be concerned.”

The sharpshooter program he used was military-issue as well, and the sniper program was another experimental military protocol. He chose not to share either of these facts with his current coworkers – the legality of those was on shaky ground, and while that was bad news for Cyberlife, it was bad for him as well.

Lieutenant Anderson was giving him a look like he’d never seen him before. Connor crossed his arms in front of him, uncomfortable, and kept the sullenness from his expression. It certainly wasn’t his fault that Lieutenant Anderson had never bothered to inquire as to the extent or nature of his programming.

It absolutely wasn’t his fault he _had_ the programming.

Detective Collins looked apprehensive as well, likely because of the same concerns he’d voiced before – the possibility of Connor becoming a deviant himself. Little did he know.

“Alright, I guess you’re good to go,” Detective Collins conceded, hiding his surprise fairly well.

Connor gave him a mild smile. “Thank you for your approval, Detective, though Lieutenant Anderson never seemed to mind.”

“Hey, don’t scapegoat me into this mess,” Lieutenant Anderson complained, and they returned to planning. Connor was grateful for the reprieve; he wasn’t looking forward to the event, but he found it unlikely that it would be worse than, say, the hostage situation he’d first gone into.

It couldn’t be. He really, really couldn’t afford it.

* * *

Connecting to the security cameras the second time was as easy as it had been the first.

**> Capture the suspects**

**> >Survey the situation [Complete]**

**> >Apprehend all present**

**Note: avoid casualties if possible**

**Additional note: Be careful, Connor**

“Three suspects,” Connor reported, visual focus off-center with most of his attention on the hacked feed. “They’re seated at one of the larger tables, on the eastern side of the building. I recognize William Bankford and Kevin Atkins, from the Xavier models’ memories.” Kevin Atkins was a known mid-tier drug trafficker, a man who had been on Reed’s radar for a while. “Victor Martin is also present and his criminal record indicates that he is a suspected enforcer for Atkins’ red ice ring. Atkins and Martin both appear to be armed, one gun and two respectively, small arms.”

Thorough scans were more difficult through the low-quality security feed, but Connor managed, the programs gliding easily through his processors and feeding him information both relevant and not. None present were currently intoxicated, and Bankford appeared nervous, while Martin was amused and Atkins impatient.

“A box of thirium supplies is under the table,” Connor added. “It seems they’re planning to transport it after the transaction, likely because of the small quantity.”

For once deadly serious, Lieutenant Anderson relayed the information into the comm. Unit, and then jerked his head, indicating for Connor to fall in behind him. Connor didn’t argue, feeling his stress levels rise into something well above standard operation parameters when entering hostile situations. His fingers clenched and unclenched nervously; his scarf had been left behind in Lieutenant Anderson’s car, though his coin was still in his pocket.

**[Be careful, Connor. Good luck.]**

Without ceremony, Lieutenant Anderson pushed the door in roughly and burst in, Connor only steps behind.

“DPD, hands up and asses down!” Lieutenant Anderson ordered, gun already out and quickly finding the table full of suspects, now frozen. “You’re under arrest!”

There was only a moment of silence before Atkins sprang to his feet, turning on Bankford, visibly enraged. “You fucking _narc,_ Bankford!”

“I didn’t say shit!” Bankford said hastily, scrambling backward and knocking his chair over in his haste.

“You _traitorous son of a whore-”_

“I’d say we could do this easy or hard,” Lieutenant Anderson cut in, circling closer in a near-mirror to Connor, “but frankly it’s gonna suck for you fuckers either way, just a matter of how long it takes.”

“Fuck that,” Martin said, very calmly, and he drew his gun. By the time he fired, both Connor and Lieutenant Anderson were behind cover.

Elsewhere in the restaurant, two doors burst open almost simultaneously, the other two teams – Collins with Reed and Chen with Miller – likely summoned by the sound of gunfire.

Connor’s vision fritzed alarmingly, the shot making his pulse spike and his breath hitch. His eyes were wide, his LED flickering a rapid anxious yellow, and Lieutenant Anderson must have noticed, because he shot Connor a sharp look, crouched in his place.

“Look, you’re basically a rookie,” he said, and his voice was steady and more grounding than Connor had expected. “Can you handle this or are you about to freak the hell out?”

Connor stared at him for a moment, and then took a deep breath. He called his combat routine to the forefront of his mind, and then his preconstruction system to standby. They slid naturally into place, ready for use, and he nodded at Lieutenant Anderson, shoulders setting. His vision cleared.

“I’m alright, Lieutenant. Let’s go.”

Lieutenant Anderson studied him sternly for a moment, and then nodded once. Behind them, Bankford tried to bolt and was waylaid by what sounded like Chen and Miller, and Collins and Reed made to corner Atkins.

A moment later, Lieutenant Anderson and Connor left cover to trap Martin.

**[Preconstructing…]**

Martin’s second shot was easy to dodge, Connor sliding neatly past the trajectory without missing a beat, eyes narrowed in focus. He wove around the other and struck his wrist, and while the man didn’t drop his gun he was thrown off, grunting harshly.

There was another gunshot, but no shout of pain. Connor twitched, but didn’t look up, and swayed back to avoid the elbow Martin sent flying at his sternum.

Lieutenant Anderson caught up then, lashing out with the butt of his gun and forcing Martin to step back, barely keeping his footing. Martin threw a punch in return, and Connor knocked it off course and Martin off-balance, so Lieutenant Anderson’s next harsh elbow strike sent him tumbling down, swearing profusely.

Connor followed him down and grabbed his wrists, pulling them together and flipping the man onto his stomach, strong enough that it wasn’t difficult despite fervent resistance. It was, actually, close to easy, and Connor ignored the flare of unwarranted fear the thought gave him.

“Not bad,” Lieutenant Anderson mumbled, dropping down beside him and fumbling for his cuffs before hooking one around the wrist Connor offered, ignoring Martin’s attempt at a kick.

Connor was about to answer, but glanced over as he heard the sound of a gun clattering to the ground. Reed let out a sound of triumph and kicked it across the floor, and before he could think twice, Connor’s LED circled yellow as he calculated where it would end up, and then what was most likely to follow.

**[Preconstructing…]**

By the time the gun slid to a halt not far from where Bankford was scrambling away from Chen and Miller, Connor was slamming Martin’s remaining wrist into the ground, accidentally cracking it based on the tactile feedback he got from the motion. He threw himself forward, vaulting over a table to get across the room.

**Note: avoid casualties if possible**

Bankford grabbed the gun, scrabbling for it briefly and then turning around. Miller found a gun suddenly pointed directly at him and reeled backward, too late to react. Chen, a few steps too far away to interfere, opened her mouth, presumably to call out or possibly swear.

Connor slammed to a halt and shoved Bankford’s arm to the side, redirecting the shot just as Bankford pulled the trigger. The bullet buried itself harmlessly into a wall.

Connor looked up, his eyes meeting Chris’ wide ones. His LED was still yellow.

Miller stared back, mouth open in surprise, still rigid from the moment of terror.

Chen got over her shock and stormed closer, dropping beside Connor and grabbing Bankford’s unresisting wrist to cuff it. “You’re lucky you missed, you asshole,” she hissed, roughly jerking the other one from Connor’s grip.

Behind them, there was a loud thud and the clatter of another gun, and Atkins started to swear loudly. Connor blinked, slowly realizing that the entire conflict was- over. Chen started to grimly recite Bankford his Miranda rights, just as Lieutenant Anderson finished doing the same for Martin.

**[Well done, Connor – you handled that well. I’d suggest you take a minute to gather yourself. The officers can handle this part on their own.]**

Connor took a breath, nodded, and pushed himself up slowly. The room was suddenly too quiet, despite the voices rattling out practiced words and the ones only just starting to subside into angry silence.

Connor thought for a minute, and then headed for the room where the three suspects had been meeting. He ducked under the table and grabbed four of the thirium packets inside the box, and then turned to head toward the android room instead.

He went inside and then stared at them for a minute. They were mostly unaffected by the conflict; three of them were still in standby, while the fourth had focused his eyes on Connor as soon as he entered the room.

“Mr. Bankford has been arrested,” Connor explained quietly, approaching the attentive android first. He took one packet from the crook of his arm, opened it, and said, “Open your mouth, please.”

His hands shook a little, but he was able to keep anything from spilling.

The android’s gaze flickered briefly down to the packet. “I received my allotted thirium eleven days ago.”

“You’re receiving more,” Connor informed him. “Your ownership will be changing hands soon anyway.”

Xavier held his gaze for a minute, and then nodded and opened his mouth. Connor tipped the thirium packet inside, and Xavier swallowed, a little too quick to be entirely calm. The other android’s body relaxed slightly, shoulders falling and hands opening. When the packet was empty, Xavier held his gaze for a long moment, and then stepped back and went still, falling into standby.

Connor moved from android to android, waking them and giving roughly the same explanation plus one packet of thirium each. It was likely they needed more to truly top off, but one would serve adequately for now.

When he’d finished, he found that his stress levels had dropped, and his focus had improved. He threw the thirium packets away.

“That was easier than I thought it would be,” he said, too quiet for even the androids in the room to hear; these words were meant for Amanda. “With how stressful these last few days have been, I thought it would be… worse.”

 **[You did well.]** Amanda’s response was instant and reassuring, but she continued. **[You do tend to do well when you have a task at hand. But don’t be surprised if there are aftershocks now the danger has passed.]**

Connor exhaled, frustration spiking unnecessarily. Of course it couldn’t be that easy. “Alright, Amanda. I’ll remember. At least stasis will be easier to handle, since I’ve caught up.]

**[Just so.]**

Amanda’s response was somehow warm with approval, and Connor let a weary smile flicker across his face before he took a deep breath, straightening up, and left the android room. Two of the three suspects had been ushered outside, and Reed was handling the third as Connor re-entered.

Connor approached Lieutenant Anderson just to fall into step beside him, folding his hands behind his back again. Connor kept his eyes on the ground, still tense and shakier than he’d like.

“Hey, Connor.”

Lieutenant Anderson’s voice was somehow awkward. Connor glanced over, wary. Lieutenant Anderson, in turn, glanced away, clearing his throat, and Connor’s head lifted curiously.

“I saw what you did for Chris. And, uh…” Lieutenant Anderson cleared his throat again. “Thanks. I know you didn’t have to.”

Connor blinked, surprised.

**Lieutenant Anderson ^^^ - Close**

Connor allowed himself a small, hesitant smile, LED circling back down to blue. “Of course, Lieutenant. It was no trouble.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little out of practice with action scenes. But things are getting better.
> 
> This is the end of the set of five, so there'll be another wait from here. I have a lot of WIPs though, so it should be interesting, instead of me just getting lost in another fandom for a bit. And hopefully it won't be as long.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, y'all! I've been holding onto this one for a good long while, so I'm super excited to be posting it at last. (There's a messier version in my comp fic, Chaos is the Law of Nature, but it's been revised a good half dozen times since then.)
> 
> Some notes - this fic will take place over a lot longer than the game does, about eight months or so, despite covering most of the same events. There's no given explanation for this, but it will affect many plot elements. Additionally, many of the characters mentioned in the tags won't appear for quite some time, most notably Nines, who we won't see for thirty chapters or so.
> 
> And my tumblr: liketolaugh-writes


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